


But they were cottage-mates!

by ionlyreadsmutandwritefluff



Category: Avengers, Captain America, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Comics, Steve Rogers - Fandom
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, F/M, Female Character of Color, Healing, Horny characters snowed in together there's only one thing for them to do, Kinda, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Protective Steve Rogers, Slow Burn, Snowed In, Steve Rogers loves BBW, Top Steve Rogers, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 18:45:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 21,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17371331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ionlyreadsmutandwritefluff/pseuds/ionlyreadsmutandwritefluff
Summary: snowed in while house sitting. With a dog who ships it.





	1. Puncher of Nazis and Destroyer of Panties: An Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> First ever fic that I've posted on a public platform! Any feedback is welcome! Especially comments <3 xo

`The freezers are full of food and we stocked up the garage with plenty of firewood! Thank you so much for doing this, hun! <3 Have fun with Arsenal! `

Andrea smiled at the text from Pepper. Trust her friend to mom her even when heading out of town for a month. Pocketing her phone, Andrea looked up at the cottage. She’d meant to head up here to catch Pepper and her husband, Tony, before they left but the weather had threatened their flights, so they’d left earlier than planned. Now, the secluded, picturesque structure before her remained still. By Tony’s ostentatious standards, this cottage was actually sensible. _Maybe Pepper was the one who chose it_ , Andrea mused. The stone cottage stood at the edge of the nearby woods. From what she understood, the Starks owned the woods. And the whole estate. And the nearby lake that Andrea drove around to get here.  


“Some folks sure do benefit from ye olde Capitalism,” Andrea muttered as she reached into her Corolla and pulled out two suitcases, her backpack, and the trash she’s accumulated during the drive.  


Pulling on her backpack, she dragged the bigger suitcase up the short steps to the door. The imposing stone columns at the top of the steps gave way to a cozy porch. The sturdy oak-planked door appeared almost medieval, except for the discreet camouflaged screen she noticed near the iron handle. Andrea stepped up to the screen and pressed a forefinger to it.  


“Hello, Ms. Brokaw. Welcome to Chalet de Stark,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s dulcet tones filled the porch. From inside, Andrea thought she heard the distinct rumblings of Arsenal.  


“Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y! Did Ms. Potts authorize me through your system?”  


Andrea realized belatedly that this was something she should’ve cleared up with Pepper long before she got in her car. Oh, well.  


“Yes, Ms. Brokaw. You have complete administrative control over the premises for the next 32 days. I should also warn you. Arsenal seems agitated,” the AI sounded almost disgruntled at the last bit of information.  


“Oh. I’m sure we’ll fix that soon!” Andrea enthused, before adding, “Er—so, can I get in, F.R.I.D.A.Y?”  


“Oh, of course, Ms. Brokaw. My apologies.”  


The wooden door slid into its frame, leaving the door wide open for Andrea to enter. The interior was an assault of warm autumn colors and smells. The entryway led into an open living area dominated by a large but cozy looking couch and fireplace. Pictures hung on the walls of Tony and Pepper— _mostly Pepper_ , Andrea amended with a smile. She’d started to appreciate the high ceiling and balcony overlooking the living room when the wind got knocked out of her as something heavy collided with her stomach. Andrea broke her fall by throwing her hand behind her and looked down to see a frantic ball of yellow fur.  


“Arsenal,” she gasped, still trying to catch her breath.  


The Golden Retriever looked up, his tail furiously whipping around, and lunged for her face, trying to lick every inch he could reach. How had she missed his barks while walking in? The canine backed away a little as Andrea conceded to give him the scratches and pets he asked for. But when she tried to stand up, he lunged at her with his own “pets” in return. The concept of puppy breath might be cute, but she was not looking forward to smelling like Arsenal’s private parts.  


Andrea tried to duck away but Arsenal managed to lick her ear while trying to climb onto her lap. Oh, no. Horror gripped her. The Retriever’s heavy paws on her thighs and the vigorous lapping of his tongue in her ear were too much—Andrea squealed. Arsenal seemed to think she was laughing and continued to climb on her thighs, his front paws landing on her sides, knocking her on her back.  


Somewhere outside, Andrea thought she heard a thud, but she was too busy trying to find air and to firmly but gently get Arsenal off her. She could hardly breathe from being tickled.  


“Arsenal, stay!” a voice called from the doorway.  


The dog looked up, leaving Andrea to recuperate, and bounded off of her to the door.  


“Arsenal,” the voice warned, more firmly this time, “Stay.”  


Andrea looked up at the entrance, still gasping and spluttering. A tall bearded man of impressive build, wearing a plaid shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and dark jeans stood with a forefinger raised, pointing at Arsenal. He had slightly long blonde hair that had been combed back and blue eyes that seemed to be holding something back. He broke eye contact with the canine and looked up at her. Laughter, Andrea realized, he was holding back laughter.  


“Are you okay, ma’am?” he called to her, still sprawled on her back in the foyer.  


Andrea’s breathing was returning to normal. She coughed a little as she sat up straighter. Arsenal looked back at her, his tail still whipping furiously.  


“Yeah. Yes. I am,” she mumbled as the embarrassment at being found like that on the floor crept in.  


“You can’t let him overpower you like that,” he said looking down at Arsenal sternly before cracking a smile, “Hey, buddy. How are ya? I missed you!” he whispered to the dog as he let Arsenal greet him.  


“I’ll keep that in mind,” Andrea bit out.  


“Are you here to see Pepper?” he asked, crouching to rub Arsenal behind the ear, adding, “I’m afraid you might’ve missed them. They had to leave early.”  


“I know,” Andrea said, standing up and brushing off her jeans. She looked at the stranger. He looked familiar.  


“Oh,” he said, staring intently at her, “well, I’m sorry you drove all the way up here. Is there anything I can do for you?”  


“Umm… You could tell me what you’re doing here?”  


The man looked at her curiously and maybe it was the hair and eyes, or his ease at being at the cottage, or maybe it was the fact that Andrea suddenly recognized him from the magazine covers, news stories, and the museum trips she’d taken while in D.C., but everything suddenly clicked.  


She was talking to Steve Rogers.  


Like… THE Steve Rogers.  


Captain. Freaking. America.  


Puncher of Nazis and destroyer of panties.  


Andrea caught herself before she whimpered out loud.  


“I’m here to housesit for Tony and Pepper,” he said and smiled down at Arsenal as he added in an oddly-endearing coo, “And to look after this little guy.”  


It was one thing watching a man descend into baby talk with a dog. It was a WHOLE other thing watching Captain America doing it.  


But what he said finally clicked in.  


“Wait. That has to be a misunderstanding. What do you mean you’re housesitting for them? I’m housesitting for them.”  


Steve looked up at her and paused for a beat before pulling his phone out. He tapped on the screen a few times and held the phone up to his ear.  


“Hey, Tony. So, who’s supposed to be housesitting your cottage?”  


A pause.  


“Ahuh.”  


A longer pause. Andrea heard the dim murmur of Tony’s voice on the other end. A second voice seemed to join his. _Pepper_ , Andrea recognized. Steve closed his eyes as he heard the couple on the other side banter back and forth.  


The shrill cry of her phone startled Andrea. Pepper was calling her.  


“Yeah, Pepper,” she answered.  


“I. Am. So. Sorry! I thought we’d talked about this ages ago! Ages! I told Tony to ask someone to housesit and of course knowing him, I figured I might as well ask you since he doesn’t even know his own social security number so how in God’s name was he going to possibly take care of this so I asked you and now, NOW, he’s telling me that he asked Steve a month ago and Steve said yes since he’s been wanting some quiet time away from the city and now you had to drag yourself all the way up there and oh by the way how was the drive? Was it too rough? The traffic was horrible when we were leaving the city but at least you made it up there fine. I am so so sorry, Andrea. This is a nightmare. You could’ve made your own plans and now I’ve ruined your holidays this is—”  


“PEPPER!” Andrea yelled into her phone, “Stop.”  


She heard her friend take in a raggedy breath on the other side of the line.  


“It’s fine. It was just some bad communication and bad planning. Not the end of the world. I wasn’t feeling the holidays this year anyways so really. I’m fine. Breathe.”  


Andrea looked over at Steve and Arsenal, still huddled together at the door. Steve still had his phone to his ear.  


“Listen, Steve and I will figure something out and someone will stay here with Arsenal and the cottage and you and Tony will head to Paris to meet your uncle and everything will be fine.”  


“Okay. Okay,” Pepper’s breathing returned to normal, “I’m still really sorry about the whole fiasco.”  


Steve was done with his call and pocketed his phone.  


“That’s fine. You’ll make it up to me soon,” Andrea smiled.  


The two exchanged some parting wishes and Andrea put her phone back in her pocket.  


“So,” she said looking up at Steve who was straightening up, “One of us gets to stay here and the other gets to go home and not be stranded in the middle of nowhere.”  


“Look, ma’am,” he began.  


“Andrea,” she interrupted.  


Steve nodded, “Andrea, look, you don’t have to give up any plans you might’ve had. I’ll stay here. You’re welcome to leave.”  


“Is exactly what I was going to say to you.”  


“Excuse me?”  


“Look, Mr. Captain—I mean, Steve America—I mean, Mr. Rogers,” Wow. _Smooth Andrea, real smooth_. “I appreciate you trying to be chivalrous or whatever but I really don’t mind staying here. In fact, I would much rather stay here than go back to the city. Plus, I was really hoping to hang out with that guy,” she said, nodding at Arsenal.  


“I would’ve thought you’d be sick of him already,” Steve chuckled.  


Andrea was about to address her earlier, forgotten embarrassment when her phone beeped.  


F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice suddenly filled the room.  


“Weather alert. Heavy snowfall to begin in 20 minutes. Temperatures dropping to below freezing tonight. All individuals are advised to stay indoors,” a brief pause followed by, “Also, welcome Captain Rogers.”  


“Thanks, F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” Steve stood with his hands on his hips as he thought.  


“Okay, so neither of us can leave tonight,” Andrea began, “we’ll both stay, I suppose. We have plenty of food and supplies from what Pepper told me. But as soon as the weather clears, Mr. Rogers, you are more than welcome to leave.”  


Steve looked at her intensely. He seemed to be assessing her in some way. Then, he gave her the briefest of nods.  


“Okay, Andrea.”  


As she walked past him to retrieve the rest of her bags, Steve followed her out and said, “And, Steve is fine. Mr. Rogers makes me think I should be welcoming people to the neighborhood.”


	2. Adonis with a Heart of Gold

Okay.  


She was okay.  


There was absolutely no reason to be nervous or even scared.  


She was in a cottage. In the middle of nowhere. About to be snowed in.  


With Steve Rogers.  


Ha. No need to freak out.  


Right.  


Andrea paced the length of one of the guest rooms on the second floor that she had adopted as her own. Arsenal padded into her room and jumped on her bed. He watched her progress as he sat down, placing his face on his front paws.  


“It’s fine, right, Arsenal?” she asked the canine, “No need to fret. Just you and me and Adonis with a heart of gold. No. Big. Deal.”  


Andrea had already taken off her sweater and scarf. No matter how many layers came off, her skin was constantly flushed, and she kept feeling like every room was too hot.  


It had been three hours since Steve had helped her bring all their stuff into the cottage. As F.R.I.D.A.Y. had predicted, the snow had started falling just as they got their cars into the garage. Now, it was falling hard.  


A shower. She needed a shower. Andrea rummaged through her suitcases and found a pair of comfy jogger pants and an old university t-shirt. She grabbed her bag of toiletries and phone and headed towards the bathroom down the hallway from her room.  


And walked straight into a wall of muscle.  


Strong hands gripped her upper arms to steady her.  


“Woah there,” Steve said, standing way too close, “You okay?”  


Andrea tried to steady herself and looked up at him, “Sorry! I didn’t see you.”  


She hadn’t realized just how tall Steve really was compared to her. _Then again_ , a voice in the back of her head spoke up, _everyone’s tall compared to you_.  


Steve slowly let go of her arms and stepped back, smiling as he gestured for her to go first, “No worries.”  


The back of Andrea’s neck prickled with awareness. She felt Steve’s eyes on her but ignored the instinct to look back to check.  


As soon as she was in the bathroom (which was beautiful with its white and gold accents, spacious without being too big), she locked the door and breathed out. Setting her things down, Andrea tried to understand her awkwardness around Steve so far. It wasn’t because he was famous. She’d been around Tony plenty without ever breaking a sweat. It wasn’t because of his military background. Her friends had plenty of siblings who had served, plus, she'd been around soldiers because of her job and she’d never been intimidated by any of them. Andrea caught her own reflection and realized that she knew why she was so nervous, had known it for years in fact.  


He was too attractive.  


Too… Pretty.  


She’s always thought his handsomeness must be in pictures because, with pictures, you had the luxury of staring for however long and seeing every minutia of detail. From his Caspian Sea-blue eyes to his perfectly curled, thick eyelashes that caressed his cheekbones so delicately to his impeccably masculine hands and confident physique. You had time to admire his beauty with pictures.  


What you hadn’t expected was to be assaulted by all those details in person every time you were around the man.  


It also didn’t help that Andrea had always been nervous around attractive people. And not just the cutesy, Rom-Com kind of nervous. She wouldn’t mumble cute stuff and be innocently adorable. Nooooo. She would seize up and stop talking. If forced to talk, she’d come across as uncharacteristically antagonistic and borderline rude.  


She let her gaze linger over her reflection for a minute. It never failed to amuse her that when confronted by an attractive human being, she always had these little introspective, completely unfair moments of “Let’s compare me to them.”  


Wide, almond-shaped brown eyes stared back before moving to her upturned nose and full lips, that were currently pursed, sat in a round, tanned face. Coarse black curls, that she struggled to tame most days, framed her face. She’d always had narrow shoulders, despite always having been on the chubby side. It was at this moment that Andrea realized she was standing there in her very thin camisole which showed off her ample chest and jeans that hugged her wide hips.  


Which is how Steve had seen her in the hallway.  


_Perfect_ , thought Andrea wryly.  


Because that’s what Adonis with a heart of gold needed to see.


	3. Two Feet

_Get a grip, Rogers_ , Steve chastised himself.  


It had been ten minutes since he’d heard the water in the bathroom come on and it had been exactly nine minutes and thirty seconds since he’d started sweating. His perspiration had nothing to do with the thermostat and everything to do with the delightful mess Tony had created for him.  


_Speak of the devil_ , he thought when his phone lit up, showing a text from the man himself.

`Just FYI. Yes, she’s single. Yes, she’s one of Pepper’s oldest friends so she really is a sweetheart. No, you shouldn’t keep your distance. `

Steve let out an amused huff at his friend’s line of thinking. And, also, at the insinuation.  


He typed back: `She is sweet. And just because I let you sign me up on a dating app does not mean I’m a hound dog now. `

Tony: `Bumble does not count as a dating app. That’s like eHarmony tbqh. Also hound dog?? I thought Parker had you caught up on that Climbers thing?`

Steve: `Still counts in my book. And you mean Vine? 😂`

Tony:` Yeah that one. Look, I love my wife and everything but even she agrees that her friend is HOT and exactly your type. She looks like a goddamn pin-up model and you know it`

Steve sighed. Andrea really did look like a pin-up model. He’d adjusted to a lot of things in the 21st century but the one thing he missed was women being free to be… womanly. Of course, there was much more to women than simply their bodies and he cared as much about their intellect, their values, and their grit. But there was something about the curves of a woman that could bring him to his knees. He briefly thought back to Peggy. His heart still cinched when his mind wandered in her direction.  


Arsenal’s head suddenly nudged his hand.  


“Hey, bud, you hungry?”  


The pup’s tail swished back and forth through the air at the question.  


Steve laughed, “Let’s get you some grub.”  


As they walked past the bathroom, music drifted through the door. A bass-heavy song with—wait, did he just hear a moan?  


Steve felt himself go very still.  


There it was again!  


_I should leave_ , Steve thought, feeling like an actual pervert. But wait. Something about it sounded… manufactured. It was too rhythmic. And he kept hearing it after the same beat. Maybe it was part of the song?  


He remembered the trick that Peter had taught him. He pulled out his phone and opened Snapchat. He pressed on the screen and held his thumb in place, waiting for the app to recognize the song. His phone vibrated and read:  


_Go Fuck Yourself by Two Feet_  


Steve looked up at the door. He couldn’t help but be intrigued. So far, he’d seen how devastatingly gorgeous his housemate was, but he’d also noticed how she seemed almost uncomfortable around him. She was sweet and kind. He’d surmised that much simply from her friendship with Pepper and the way Tony had talked about her on the phone and through his lewd texts. And now her music choices. It was the opposite of what he'd seen so far. Sensual. Confident. Steve stood there for a moment, wanting to know this stranger more, more curious than he'd been in a long time, before turning and heading to the kitchen to feed Arsenal.  


He’d have time later. For now, he pulled out his headphones from his pocket and looked up the song playing in the bathroom.


	4. Bora Bora

Andrea stared at her phone in horror.

`So, have you tried to jump our resident Golden Boy, yet? `

Subtly was not one of Tony’s strong suits. Actually, it wasn’t a suit for him at all.

`No, Tony. I have not assaulted your friend, who also happens to be America’s Sweetheart. WTH kind of person do you think I am??`

Tony: `A normal red-blooded woman? Come on! Are you saying HE’s not your type? Andrea, I’m a happily married man and Steve’s MY type. `

Andrea couldn’t help but laugh. She figured Tony wasn’t the only person in the world who felt that way. Something about Steve’s chiseled-by-the-Gods-themselves face could make anyone question their sexuality. Sighing, she texted back.

`Yes, I think he’s beautiful and I would LOVE to do unholy things with him and to him BUT that is not going to happen. Especially cuz I value a thing called Consent?? `

Tony: `Atta girl! And I’m sure he’d give it to you. Along with other things 😉 `

`ANTHONY EDWARD STARK! STAHP`

“Hey, you want—woah, sorry,” Steve looked apologetic at having startled her. Because she’d jumped. Like physically jumped.  


“No, you’re fine,” Andrea smiled, praying that there weren’t any telltale signs of where Tony had taken her thoughts in regard to the capital-M Man, in front of her, “I just lost track of where I was for a minute. What’s up?”  


She hoped he didn’t press the matter.  


“Oh, okay. I just wanted to know if you were hungry. I was gonna make some dinner,” he smiled.  


Andrea’s stomach flipped. America’s Golden Boy, who was gorgeous, could fill out a pair of jeans like no one else she’d ever seen, and was incredibly sweet and humble, was now offering to cook dinner for her. _Shoulda packed more underwear, Brokaw_ , she thought wryly.  


The universe, sensing her wayward thoughts, decided in that moment to make her phone buzz in her hand.  


“Andrea?” Steve asked.  


She realized she hadn’t responded to his question.  


“Oh, sorry! Yes, please! I’d love some dinner.”  


“Great. What’re you in the mood for?”  


_You_. Andrea blinked.  


“I’d love anything you give me,” Andrea blurted out. _Goddammit, Tony._  


Steve cleared his throat a little, “All right. Pasta sound good?”  


He still smiled kindly at her. Maybe he hadn’t picked up on the subtext. Maybe. Hopefully.  


“That sounds great!”  


Her phone buzzed again.  


“I’ll let you get back to that. Gimme an hour,” Steve told her as he turned and walked out of the room.  


Two additional texts from Tony waited for her. 

`All I’m saying is you need to stop overthinking things. And maybe let good ol’ Cap make you pull a Dead Poets’ Society. `

`You know? “Oh, Captain, My, Captain”? But less about poetry, more about him going down on you`

A little squeal escaped Andrea when she read that last part.

`I was literally talking to him when you sent that. So glad I didn’t read it in front of him!! `

Tony: `Hmm... Maybe I should send a few screenshots to him? `

Surely, he was joking? Not wanting to risk it, Andrea responded with the one threat she knew she could rely on.

`If you do, Pepper finds out about Bora Bora. `

Tony: `You wouldn’t??`

`Try me, bitch.`

Nearly a minute passed before her phone lit up again.  
Tony:`Understood. `

Breathing a sigh of relief, Andrea walked out of her room to find the checklist Pepper had promised her.


	5. They're in so much trouble

She’d checked the guestroom, the master bedroom, all the bathrooms, the entertainment room, the living room, and even the garage.  


No checklist.  


Andrea had studiously avoided the kitchen where she’d glimpsed Steve with rolled up sleeves, moving comfortably through the kitchen. A practiced ease in his movements that told her he did this often. _Not now, Brokaw. You’re looking for a checklist, you aren’t checking your housemate out_ , she scolded herself.  


Arsenal, who’d been carefully following every move Steve made, lest he drop a morsel of precious food, bounded after Andrea when he saw her walk past the kitchen door…the second time.  


She saw Steve look up from his workstation where he’d started assembling the ingredients for what looked like homemade sauce.  


“Hey, you okay? I’ve heard you moving around for a while,” he called out when she tried to jump out of sight.  


“Ummm… Yeah,” Andrea winced before appearing at the kitchen door and leaning against the frame with her arms folded in front of her, “Pepper said she’d leave me a checklist of sorts to help with taking care of the place, but I haven’t found anything yet. Do you mind if I look around here?”  


“Of course not!” Steve gestured towards the kitchen, “But I haven’t seen anything resembling a checklist yet.”  


“Oh.” She was about to back away but continued, “I’ll just check some of the drawers in here. To be safe.”  


Steve nodded, “Be my guest,” and gave her a radiant smile—a smile that warmed her all the way to her toes.  


She was in so much trouble. 

* * *

He was in so much trouble.  


Steve tried to concentrate on what he was doing instead of Andrea’s movements across the island from him. However, that was proving difficult. He’d heard her move through nearly every room in the cottage for the last 20 minutes, twice she groaned, and once he thought he heard her stomp on the floor. Every time he heard her, Steve had to remind himself that she was Tony and Pepper’s friend. She was a young woman who was stuck here with a stranger. The last thing she needed was a 98-year-old creep ogling at her. 

He continued to crush garlic for the sauce that he’d learned in San Marino in ’43. Yes, the sauce. Dinner was important. An intriguing voluptuous woman being adorable in her shortness—well, she wasn’t unimportant, but he needed to come across as something other than a creep. 

He decided he was really in trouble when he made the mistake of looking over to his right. The reason this was a bad decision was because at that very moment, Andrea had bend over to check one of the bottom drawers, which meant that her very modestly dressed hips were thrust out towards him, swaying a little from side to side as she looked through the drawers thoroughly. Steve felt his mouth water and his face burn, lust licking his back. His brain, too busy conjuring up carnal images, belatedly realized that Andrea had straightened up and turned around.  


“No luck, maybe—Steve?” she asked, concern coloring her face when she looked up at him, “Are you okay? You look flushed.”  


Steve cleared his throat, unable to believe that he’d been reduced to a teenage boy in a matter of seconds, and said, “Oh, yeah. Sorry. I zoned out for a minute. So, no checklist?”  


“No. I guess Pepper forgot—Oh my god, I am beyond stupid.”  


“What?”  


“I’m in ‘Chalet de Stark’,” she said, putting the obnoxious name chosen by Tony in air-quotes, “of course there’s no paper checklist. I’m such a dumbass.”  


“Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y?” she called to the AI.  


“Yes, Ms. Brokaw?”  


“Did Ms. Potts leave a checklist for me?”  


“She most certainly did! If you meet me in the living room, I’ll have it pulled up on the system screens in there.”  


Andrea looked ruefully around the room and asked, “And how long were you going to let me look around the house before you told me about this list?”  


F.R.I.D.A.Y. seemed to hesitate for a minute before answering, “Boss usually has me on the “speak when spoken to” protocol at his residences. It’s only portable me that gets to give him as much info as I can jam into one conversation. Apologies, Ms. Brokaw.”  


“Oh. Don’t be sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m headed to the living room for the list!”  


Steve watched her head out of the kitchen. She’d comforted an AI system. Sure, he understood that AI systems, like any sentient being, deserved to be treated with respect and courtesy. But Andrea had been…kind to F.R.I.D.A.Y. She’d attempted to tease her a little and when she realized that it was out of the AI’s control… She was kind to her.  


_Peggy would’ve liked her_ , Steve reflected and went back to cooking dinner.


	6. Checklists and Dinner

**Arsenal stuff:**

1\. Feed Arsenal twice a day. Mornings around 7 am to 9 am. Evenings around 8 to 10 pm.  
2\. He needs to be let out twice as well. He’ll usually let you know when that is. He’s well trained so don’t worry about needing to do any kind of extensive cleaning up.  
3\. His food is in the pantry on the top shelf. There’s a step ladder in there! Don’t worry about anything being too high for you.  
4\. Doggy treats are also up there, and you can decide when to give Arsenal those. Don’t spoil him though!  
5\. He’s usually enthusiastic about baths. The cold makes him a bit difficult but if you get in the water before him, he jumps in and is pretty easy to handle. I know it’s not ideal, but you don’t need to do it as often since he doesn’t get too sweaty or dirty during the winter.  
6\. He likes walks and they usually make him less likely to disrupt your sleep. A walk to the lake and back should be enough.  
7\. He loves you and that’s usually the biggest obstacle for us finding someone to take care of him. Just be firm with him and he’ll listen. I know you’ll want to love him and spoil him a little but, for your own sake, be a tiny bit strict.  


**House stuff:**  


1\. There are two industrial style freezers between the kitchen and the garage. Remember the freezer from The Shining? Yeah. Tony might’ve gone a little overboard.  
2\. The pantry is stocked full as well. Please eat. Make sure you eat.  
3\. The house runs on power from the local plant. It’s usually no problem but in case there’s an outage, we have backup generators. They should withstand most, if not all, complications that may arise.  
4\. Firewood in the garage will help keep the inside of the cottage warm. In case you don’t want to keep the AC running 24/7.  
5\. If it gets to freezing temperatures, F.R.I.D.A.Y. will keep you updated on that, make sure you let all the faucets drip a little. I know it’s wasteful but that’s the only way you can stop the pipes from being damaged and to make sure that you don’t die of dehydration.  
6\. There are some snow boots in the garage. And ski equipment. And some Alaskan mining gear. Not sure what that’s for. I’ll ask Tony if that’s important.  
7\. There’s also about 150 pounds of rock salt in there. For the steps and pavements.  
8\. Snow shovels in the basement. Yes, there’s a basement. That’s also where you’ll find the laundry room. And pool table. And gaming room.  
9\. The library is on the second door past the master bedroom. You’re welcome.  
10\. Please make yourself at home. I know you probably won’t take the master bedroom, but you should. I put some extra toiletries, fresh towels, and cleaning supplies under every sink and in every bathroom. Thank you so much for doing this.  


**Estate stuff:**  


1\. Almost none of the estate needs to be looked after right now. We do most of the maintenance stuff during early spring. So, no worries about the grass or anything like that.  
2\. The walk to the lake takes about 10 minutes. So, 20 minutes should get you there and back, if you don’t stay too long.  
3\. The woods are safe as long as you stay on the path. However, I wouldn’t recommend going in there if you can help it. Just to be safe.  
4\. ESPECIALLY don’t go there if it’s late. I really shouldn’t have to write this one down but I’m writing this as Tony recovers from his “near-fatal” encounter with a coyote. Don’t worry he was wearing a suit. And it was deep in the woods, a lot further from the cottage than you would ever want to go. They don’t come near the cottage.  
5\. If the lake gets frozen, it’s usually thin ice so don’t try to go skating. Not that you’d wanna bust your ass again like back in college 😂  
6\. Stay safe. Call me immediately in case of an emergency. F.R.I.D.A.Y knows how to contact the fire station and the sheriff’s department so just give her the order if you need help.  
7\. I love you and you’re a wonderful friend. I hate that you’re gonna be all alone up here, but I am so glad Arsenal gets to spend all this time with you.

Andrea sat on the couch in the living room processing the entire list before her, which F.R.I.D.A.Y. had pulled up on a giant hologram screen for her to read. A lot of information, some of it obvious, others very specific.  


“Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”  


“Yes, Ms. Brokaw?”  


“Could you send this list to my phone?”  


“Sure thing.” 

Andrea wanted to explore the parts of the cottage she hadn’t realized existed. Looking at the actual size of the place, it seemed less like a cottage and more like a luxury home for a mid-sized family. The only aspect of the house that seemed to fit the “cottage” mold was the stone exterior. 

She walked back to the kitchen. Steve stood by the sink emptying the cooked pasta into a colander. Andrea watched his back muscles flex, the rising heat in the kitchen making his shirt stick to him. He turned around to place the empty pot back on the cooling stove-top. Tendrils of his blonde hair, now appearing a little disheveled, stuck to his forehead. Somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind, Andrea pictured other scenarios where Steve could get this sweaty, where his hair could get this mussed up. 

Sensing her presence, he looked up, “Hey! Dinner’s done. Didya find the list?”  


“Yup,” Andrea cleared her throat, doing the same to her mind as well, “It’s thorough.”  


“Ha! Wouldn’t expect anything less from Pepper. Listen, why don’t we eat first, and you can walk me through the list?”  


“Sounds good to me!” Andrea hadn’t realized how hungry she was. _For food_ , she warned her wayward thoughts.  


Steve grabbed plates from the cabinets as Andrea moved towards the delicious aroma. As they moved around the kitchen, the domesticity of the whole scene struck Andrea. It felt…nice.  


“So, how long have you known Pepper?” Steve asked, piling his plate with spaghetti.  


“We met during my freshmen year of college. I think it was some event at one of the dorms. A mutual friend introduced us, and we’ve been friends ever since,” Andrea reminisced, remembering how they had bonded over their love for an obscure space science show at the ice cream social.  


“So, you’ve known each other for a while,” Steve smiled, moving to the bar stools on the other side of the kitchen island.  


“Yeah. About… 11? 12 years now?”  


“You weren’t at their wedding though?”  


“Er, no. I was stationed outside Aleppo at the time. Couldn’t make it back,” Andrea muttered, looking down at her food, “this looks delicious by the way.”  


“I’m sorry, Aleppo? What do you mean you were stationed there?” Steve’s forehead crinkled.  


“I’m a journalist,” Andrea began, already knowing what was going to follow. She’d always been keenly aware of how people reacted when learning that she was a plus size woman who was a war correspondent.  


“You’re a war correspondent?” The question sounded more like a statement. He leaned back in his chair, mouth slightly ajar, eyes looking at her with something close to wonder.  


“Yup. I know what you’re thinking,” she laughed, “I don’t really fit the mold of a war correspondent.”  


“Actually, I was thinking about how I was right about you.”  


Andrea looked him quizzically.  


“I was thinking earlier about how a friend of mine would’ve really liked you. I was right. She would’ve loved you,” he said quietly.  


Andrea sat in her chair, fork hovering in mid-air, unsure of how to respond to that. It wasn’t what he said—although there was something to unpack there—but the way he said it that made her heart skip a beat.  


“So, anyways,” she said a little too dismissively, “I couldn’t make it back. I tried to get my editors to make an exception but that’s when the chemical attacks started and then we decided to bomb the country. I had to stay.”  


“That explains why I didn’t see you there. When did you make it back?”  


“About two weeks ago,” Andrea thought back to the complete disconnect she’d been feeling since being back in her country, in her apartment. The fragility of life, the impermanence, the pointlessness of the violence and death she’d witnessed. Her dad had been asking her to visit for the holidays. But she’d needed some time to herself. When Pepper had asked her to housesit a remote cottage with Arsenal, it seemed like the perfect escape.  


“Hey… You okay?” Steve asked, leaning over the table to gently hold her hand. Blue, probing eyes full of concern held her gaze.  


Andrea had been a bit touch starved during her time in Syria. Steve’s gentle but steady touch nearly made her cave in. She needed to be held, needed to be touched. She needed to know that there was still warmth and comfort in the world. She needed to know that she wasn’t selfish for wanting them after witnessing the carnage. Those blue eyes of Steve’s held within them a fountain of everything she needed in that moment. Instead, she cleared her throat and smiled at him.  


“Yeah. Yeah, totally. Just needed time to adjust and get rid of that killer jet-lag,” she laughed.  


Steve gave her a lopsided smile, something in his eyes telling her he didn’t believe her.  


“I'll bet,” he nodded, pulling his hand back, leaving Andrea feeling a little colder.


	7. Moral Lapses

Steve had met plenty of people trying to reconcile with the horrors of warfare. Back then, people called it “shell-shock.” Now, they called it PTSD. Soldiers found a way to deal with it, in the moment. But they had signed up for it.  


Andrea hadn’t. Sure, she was a war correspondent and a good one, Steve was certain. But she was still a civilian. Who willingly walked into a warzone to report on the atrocities of a rogue dictator.  


When she told him how long she’d been stateside after her time in Syria, her eyes had dimmed. She’d seemed a little… Lost. He’d had to resist the urge to pull her onto his lap and wrap his arms around her, to hold her and protect her. He wasn’t sure why he was reacting this way to a near stranger, but every bone in his body had screamed at him to take care of this woman in front of him.  


Instead, he’d held her hand for a few seconds.  


They were sprawled on the couch in the living room, Arsenal sitting between them, with his head in Andrea’s lap and tail tucked beside Steve’s thigh. He looked at the pup slowly dozing off thanks to Andrea petting him, while explaining Pepper’s list to Steve, and felt a pang of envy. He wanted her hands on him, not the dog.  


_Jealous of a dog? Really, Rogers?_ Steve chastised himself.  


“So, anyways. That’s the whole thing,” Andrea concluded, looking over at him, “I was meaning to walk down and check out the basement and the freezers, but I’m trapped right now and—”  


“I can move him,” Steve heard himself nearly yell out.  


Andrea gasped in mock-horror, “I would never let you!”  


Steve laughed and clarified, “Only in case he’s bothering you or you’re uncomfortable.”  


“Nah, I’ve missed being touched,” she said wistfully before a light blush stole across her cheeks and she looked away.  


Steve felt himself go still. His gaze stole over her hands, still petting the pup, her frame, her skin.  


He stifled a groan, readjusting in his seat, his hands twitching with the need to caress all of her.  


“Err,” she began, “Steve? Are you okay?”  


Steve quickly plastered a smile on his face and nodded at her, not trusting his voice to be stable.  


“Well, it’s just that,” Andrea continued, “you’re clenching your fists and your knuckles kinda look white.”  


Arsenal— _bless that dog_ , thought Steve—picked this moment to get up and stretch between them, letting Steve gain a modicum of composure.  


“Ha! Looks like you’re free to go,” he motioned.  


Andrea chuckled, “I guess I am. We might as well go and check out some of the things on this list.”  


As she got up from the couch, Arsenal chose that exact moment to get down in front of her. Andrea yelped as she tripped over the pup and fell over Steve’s lap.

Unsure of what to do and his instincts kicking into hyperawareness, Steve blanched. 

Now, Steve is a gentleman and values chivalry.  


Steve does not objectify women, especially when they’re in a helpless situation.  


Steve is a good person and understands that human beings have momentary lapses in judgment or character.  


Steve _really_ wants to run his hands over the beautiful, round ass currently perched on his lap.  


Although he resists the urge to pull down her bottoms, spank her and watch that ass jiggle, Steve lets out a whimper, the image in his head too perfect.

“Oh, my god! Arsenal,” Andrea groans, while Arsenal waddles up to her and licks her face in lieu of an apology.  


“Steve, I am so, so sorry. I swear I’m not usually this clumsy,” she chimes, before pushing herself off him, making Steve miss her weight on top of him.  


Steve clears his throat and prays that she doesn’t spot just how much he is affected by what just happened and rubs his hands on his jeans to stop himself from reaching over and dragging her back to where she was on his lap.  


“Are you okay?" He manages to croak.  


“Yeah, sorry though. Did I hurt you? You sounded like you were in pain for a second?”  


“Nope. No pain. All good,” Steve spluttered, “Let’s go and do the thing you mentioned.”  


And with that, he walked out of the living room without looking back, hoping to hide the fact that his face was burning and his cock was rock hard.


	8. The Physics of It All

“What do you mean you’re not a _Star Wars_ fan?!” 

It has been about a week since Steve and Andrea had been snowed in at Chalet de Stark. After her bout of clumsiness on that first day, Andrea had managed to keep her balance over the next few days. She’d eventually gotten over the embarrassment of being sprawled across his lap after Arsenal tripped her (Andrea was well aware that Arsenal was a dog and not Tony, but he was also Tony’s dog, so she couldn’t but feel like he’d tripped her on purpose. Yes, she was paranoid). Steve had been a gentleman, however, and avoided making her feel worse. Although, he _did_ seem to avoid being too close for the next few days. Andrea tried not to take that personally, but she couldn’t really blame the man for keeping his distance. He probably didn’t need a repeat of that anytime soon. Idly, she wondered if she’d actually hurt him. 

At present, they were sitting across from each other in the kitchen, eating breakfast, when Andrea had casually mentioned her indifference to the Star Wars franchise in response to Steve’s assessment of the latest installment. 

Andrea shrugged, “I just never got into it.” 

“But how?? Why?” Steve asked incredulously, seemingly aghast at this incredibly trivial matter. 

“I don’t know. I mean I’ve never even seen all the original movies. But I just don’t get the hype. The original trilogy seems all right but just not my cup of tea,” she said, spooning more cereal out of her bowl. 

“The original trilogy seems ‘all right?’” he looked at her with barely concealed horror, “I knew you couldn’t be perfect,” Steve muttered, looking down at his bowl. 

“Excuse me?” Andrea choked. 

“Nothing,” he responded, before continuing, “so, what _do_ you like?” 

“Umm. Well, I don’t know if there’s anything specific. I’m into a lot of different things,” Andrea said noncommittedly. 

“Like?” Steve asked, sounding far too eager. 

“Well, I guess anything that doesn’t just rely on CGI explosions to get a response from me. Heard enough real ones to know the difference, I’m afraid,” she muttered. 

“Right,” his nod containing genuine understanding, “So, arthouse stuff?” 

“I suppose. Substance over style, you know?” Andrea clarified before elaborating, “Okay, so, this is going to sound either incredibly pretentious or extremely boring, but I like Shakespearean adaptations. Not just actual Shakespeare plays in the time period that they were originally set in but the ones that get adapted to modern times. And use modern day conflicts to contextualize the character arcs of the original work?” 

“You mean like… _The Lion King_?” Steve asked, tilting his head to the side, a crease forming on his forehead. 

Andrea laughed, “Exactly! And _Sons of Anarchy_. Another brilliant _Hamlet_ adaptation; like if Hamlet was in a biker gang instead of the prince of Denmark. Or _10 Things I Hate About You_ , which is an adaptation of _The Taming of the Shrew_.” 

“Oh, the biker gang one sounds interesting. Kinda wanna watch the show.” 

“It’s brilliant. So, so good. Plus, Charlie Hunnam’s easy on the eyes so I’m not complaining,” Andrea shrugged. 

“Now I’m even more curious.” 

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” 

“Just curious about what this guy looks like,” he said nonchalantly. 

“We can watch it later tonight, if you want,” Andrea smiled as she got up and reached for his empty bowl, wanting to clean up the kitchen before leaving for the rest of their ‘chores’. 

Steve, while trying to hand the dirty dishes over to her, accidentally brushed his fingers over the back of Andrea’s hand. Electricity from the point of contact shot through her, making her core tingle with awareness and a tiny gasp (that she immediately prayed and hoped Steve didn’t hear) escape her. 

She looked up at him, unsure of how or why she was reacting this way and wishing he wouldn’t notice her continued awkwardness and skittishness with touch. 

“It’s a date,” Steve murmured, looking at her curiously before giving her a tiny smile and making her heart flutter. 

* * *

Andrea gaped at the contraptions in front of her. 

“How did I expect anything normal here?” she muttered to herself. 

She hadn’t bothered checking the door labeled “Laundry” on her first visit down to the basement, thinking, foolishly, that there wasn’t anything to worry about. The “laundry” unit, turns out, was a remarkably high-tech, top of the line, nearly industrial-size unit that you’d expect in a hotel rather than a cottage in the countryside. Actually, the entire “basement” still threw her off every time she ventured down here. Pool table, actual full-sized bar with a miniature version of the kitchen upstairs, darts, air hockey table, gaming section with plush couches that practically begged her to take naps on, a second spacious full bathroom, and the laundry room. Yeah. The physics of the whole cottage still evaded her. 

Andrea shook her head and put down her laundry basket. There wasn’t really a lot to wash but she’d needed to get away from Steve for a bit. It wasn’t his fault; she just needed to be able to breathe without feeling flustered after every third word. 

Before sorting through her stuff, Andrea popped her headphones in and started the playlist that always got her dancing. She just needed to relax a little and this was perfect. She didn’t have anything else lined up for the next few hours, giving her plenty of time to destress. 

Twenty minutes later, she’d sorted through everything and started the first cycle, the instructions remarkably easy for such an intimidating machine. She’d danced to Whitney Houston and Tina Turner while loading the machines but now had moved onto Lil’ Wayne. Yeah, her playlist wasn’t really ‘themed’ beyond ‘makes me dance.’ So, when Mr. Carter asked her to “bring that ass back,” that’s exactly what Andrea did, backing out of the laundry room. 

She swung her hips side to side, remembering how much she enjoyed going out dancing with her friends in college and realized just how much she’d missed it. Eyes closed to savor the peace washing over her, the beat making her body sway, Andrea felt _sexy_. For the first time in a long while. The awkwardness of the last week, the constant tension in her body when around Adonis, the anxiety and stress still packed into her muscles from her time out of the country, they all seemed to slip out of her the more she danced. 

A nudge on her thigh made her eyes snap open. Arsenal stood in front of her, the unwavering wag of his tail providing a heavy contrast to the song in Andrea’s ear. 

Carefully taking an ear-bud out, Andrea bent over to scratch his ear and asked, “And what are you doing down here?” 

“Well, _we_ hadn’t seen you in a bit and wondered where you’d gone off to,” came a voice from behind. 

Andrea whipped around to find an amused Steve on the staircase, casually leaning against the railing, with his arms folded on his chest. 

“Err, laundry,” she responded lamely. 

“I can see that,” Steve tilted his head forward, eyes still lit with laughter. And something else Andrea didn’t recognize. 

“How,” she began, unsure of just how embarrassed she should be feeling for being caught doing her “club” moves that she often even hesitated to do _in_ clubs, “how long have you been standing there?” 

“Oh, a while.” 

Andrea let out a nervous laugh. 

“Right, umm,” she quickly shot Arsenal a pleading look, hoping the dog would rescue her from this situation, “Did you need something?” 

“Nope. He got a little restless. I thought he wanted a walk. Turns out he was looking for you,” Steve smiled. 

Turning away and praying that he wouldn’t say anything about her dancing, she started blabbing a little, “Oh. Okay. Well, the washer’s almost done so I’ll put everything in the dryer, start another cycle and be up with you guys. Or you can leave him here if he’s bothering you or getting in your way or annoying you in any way and I’ll see y—” 

“Hey, Andrea?” Steve interrupted her. 

“Yeah?” Andrea turned around. 

Steve descended the rest of the steps before looking at her with absolute sincerity and saying, “You’re a beautiful dancer.” 

He gave her the most heartbreakingly soft smile and, without waiting for a response, went back up the stairs, Arsenal following in his wake.


	9. Fondue?

`Buck, I need help. `

`I’ve been waiting for this since Tony’s call. `

`Wait what? `

`What do you need help with? `

`Tony called you? When? Why? `

`Just a head’s up. What’s up? `

`I need a buffer. `

`For? `

`Between me and Pepper’s friend. I feel like a teenager all over again. `

`Why a buffer? `

`The woman’s been through enough already. She doesn’t need me creeping her out. `

`Hold on what do you mean? `

`I mean she’s hot. And I want her. And that’s gonna creep her out. `

`Ok wow I need to see what this woman looks like. I need to see what woman has you acting this way punk `

`Buck, you’re not helping!! `

`Not trying to :p `

`I’m calling Sam `

Steve’s phone lit up with a picture of Bucky from last year’s Halloween party (where he decided to wear his 1940s uniform). His best friend was calling him. 

“I don’t have time to waste, Buck.” 

“Clearly you do since you were gonna call Wilson,” Bucky answered, his voice burning with amusement at his friend’s crisis. 

Steve shook his head and leaned against the door to his room. He’d nearly tripped over himself to make it back after watching Andrea dance in the basement. His mouth was still dry, and his jeans felt uncomfortably tight. He readjusted himself, trying to ignore the throb of his erection. He thanked the universe for the tiny miracle that Andrea hadn’t noticed. 

“Buck,” Steve gritted out, feeling a little agitated. 

“Okay, okay. So, who is this? What’s going on? All Tony told me was that I should start planning your bachelor party?” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Steve whispered, closing his eyes. 

“Pal, talk to me.” 

Steve relayed the past week’s events to Bucky in hushed tones. His room was separated from Andrea’s by the master bedroom and bathroom, but he had a feeling she might try to check up on him soon. She was like that. Steve told his best friend about everything. How beautiful he thought his housemate was, how incredibly delicious she looked in even the most mundane clothes, how caring and kind she was, how much he’d been wanting to kiss her, how much she doted on Arsenal, how she’d fallen on top of him and he’d had to stop himself from pinning her under him and enjoying the feel of her soft thighs cradling his hips while he explored her and figured out what sounds she’d make when he touched her (okay, so he couldn’t tell Buck in detail about that last bit so he painted a more appropriate picture for his friend.) 

Bucky listened to all his ramblings, which had started sounding more and more like a schoolboy with each passing second. 

“So,” Steve concluded, “I am now hiding in my room because she’s such a sexy dancer and I’m hard.” 

“First off,” Bucky answered, “Never again tell me you’re hard. That’s just wrong.” 

“Buck!” 

“Kidding. But what are you worried about? Why do you need a buffer?” 

“I need a buffer because if I don’t have one, I’m probably going to end up fucking her,” Steve groaned into his phone, his other hand rubbing the headache that was beginning to form around his forehead. 

“People fuck, pal. As long she’s into it, I still don’t see a problem.” 

“That’s exactly what I’m concerned about! She seems nervous around me and she’s been through a lot. I don’t think she’s into me and I also don’t wanna make her feel uncomfortable by shoving my dick in her face.” 

“You think she’s nervous because she doesn’t like you?” Bucky asked skeptically. 

Steve nodded before adding, “Umm. Yeah.” 

“And you think it has nothing to do with the fact that you’re Captain America, a remarkably good-looking guy who can probably bench-press a forklift?” 

“Well,” Steve hesitated. In reality, it _hadn’t_ occurred to him that Andrea’s nervousness might actually be attraction. 

“And she’s been away for how long? I’m sure she’s beautiful but I’m guessing romantic options in a war-torn country might not have been a lot?” 

Steve felt himself go red. Mostly because his brain was back to picturing Andrea in the most intriguing positions, looking at him with pleading, lust-filled eyes. 

“Steve? You in there?” was followed by a knock on the door Steve was leaning on. 

Steve blanched. 

“Pal, you there?” Bucky’s voice called out. 

“Yeah, Buck. Hold on,” Steve whispered into his phone before turning around to open the door. 

“Hey, yeah, I’m right here,” he called, his voice soundly a little too cheery, to find Andrea standing outside his door in the same black leggings and flowy, green V-neck she’d been wearing earlier. Steve had to recall his military training and exercise a lot of discipline to keep his eyes on her face and not let them wander to the slope of her breasts peeking out from under the shirt (which, from his vantage point, was proving even more difficult to avoid), or the leggings that hugged her flared out hips. 

“What’s up?” 

“Oh, I just realized I didn’t ask if you needed anything to be washed.” 

“Oh, no. You’re fine. I wouldn’t want you to do that.” 

“Steve. It’s fine. I’m asking. You’re not imposing. I’m already doing laundry. Might as well get all of it done for now.” 

“Umm… Sure,” Steve conceded, leaving the door open and going to the closet to find shirts and sweatpants that needed to be washed. 

“HEY, ANDREA!!” Bucky yelled from Steve’s phone. He swore if his friend had been in the room, Steve would’ve punched him in the gut. 

“Umm… Hello, person-Steve-was-talking-to!” 

“It’s Bucky,” Steve nodded at his phone, “Buck, this is Andrea Brokaw, a friend of Pepper’s and my housemate at the moment. Andrea, this is James Buchanan Barnes, a pain in the ass and my best friend.” 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Barnes,” Andrea hollered towards Steve’s phone. 

“Likewise. Hey, do you mind taking the phone from Steve? Being on hold is too boring,” Bucky called out. 

Steve was about to shut Bucky down when Andrea responded, “Sure thing! Unless,” she added, looking to check with Steve, “you guys were in the middle of something important?” 

“Oh, very, very important. Top-level stuff, Andrea. It’s a long and hard… Conversation? A bit girthy to be fair, right Steve? But he can wait for a while.” 

Steve _really_ wanted to punch Bucky. Instead, he nodded when Andrea wordlessly asked for the phone. He handed it to her, careful to avoid touching her and went back to looking for any dirty clothes. His heart was hammering in his chest. Bucky wouldn’t expose him in any way, but he still felt his cheeks flame and his palms get a little sweaty as Andrea started walking towards the door and out of his room. He heard a peel of laughter leave her as she walked out of ear-shot. 

Five minutes. Ten minutes. 

Fifteen minutes later, Steve ventured out to look for Andrea, basket with dirty clothes in hand, dreading to find out what was taking so long. His brain went into overdrive coming up with scenarios where Bucky had told her everything and now she was packing her things, trying to get away from a 100-year-old creep who couldn’t stop coming up with filthy fantasies of tying her up and tasting her little puss— 

“Okay, I understand that a Mars colony _sounds_ cool but if we really have the tech and resources to terraform a whole planet, why not do it right here on earth?? Why waste all that money and energy to get to Mars when you could probably find ways to invest in sustainable agriculture right here and feed billions with that money?” 

Andrea stood near the fireplace in the living room, her right profile facing Steve, her free hand moving as she spoke. She stayed silent as she listened to Bucky’s response, patiently nodding along with the occasional “Mm-hmm.” 

“Again, I totally agree! The fact that we’ve come to the point where a Mars colony is even a possibility, let alone a possibility that we can see through in the foreseeable future, is _amazing_. But, it’s the whole Jurassic Park argument, you know? It’s not a question of whether we can, it’s a question of whether we should.” 

Steve felt himself sag with relief. Of course. They were talking about space travel. 

Andrea looked up at him and spoke into the phone, “Oh, my god, Buck, I am so sorry! Steve’s here. I totally hijacked your conversation. I’ll text you that link in a bit. I’m still surprised you’ve never seen _Kurzgesagt_.” 

Andrea patiently waited for Bucky’s response, quickly mouthing an “I’m sorry” at Steve. Steve, on the other hand, was still trying to process the part where Andrea promised to “text” Bucky. 

“All right. Talk soon, Buck! Bye!” Andrea smiled, before hanging up and turning to Steve, “I am so, so sorry. We kinda lost track of time.” 

“Oh, no. You’re fine. I was just a little worried. Bucky tends to get a little too familiar, a little too fast,” Steve smiled, stepping a little closer to her and trying to squash the irrational jealousy rearing its head in his chest. 

“Ha! I can imagine,” Andrea said fondly before handing Steve his phone back. 

Steve’s phone buzzed in his hand. A text from Bucky. He quickly glanced at the bubbles which read: 

`Do it. Her. I mean do her. `

`DO HER. DO HER. DO HER. `

The next text was a bunch of emojis. The eggplant and peach emojis were the most common ones. 

“Do you wanna have some fondue with me?” Andrea asked, hands clasped in front of her, eyes wide and innocent. 

Steve nearly choked on air. 

“What?!” 

“Bucky mentioned that you loved fondue.” She shrugged, the V-neck shirt sinking lower, “I have a Tunisian friend who makes the best fondue. She taught me how. We could have some fondue as a snack?” 

Unable to form coherent words and wanting to actually murder Bucky, Steve gave her a pained smile and nodded before adding, “That would be nice.” 

“Awesome! You, me, fondue! You’re gonna love it! My fondue makes grown men fall to their knees,” Andrea declared, grabbing Steve’s laundry basket and walking past him. 

Steve slowly counted to 10 before responding to Bucky. 

`Fondue?! Really? `

The next text had a picture attachment of Andrea, a black and white profile shot which was probably used for work. She was looking off camera and appeared to be listening intently to whatever was being said to her. Her hair was pulled back into a pony and she wore a black collared shirt, her eyebrows furrowed. She looked beautiful. Capable. Striking. 

Bucky: `Enjoy as much fondue as you can with her, pal. 😉`


	10. Plans

Andrea stood in the hallway raked with guilt. Her heart felt heavy with the burden of the choice before her and she realized just how helpless she really was. 

“You know I can’t. I shouldn’t.” 

Brown eyes stared up at her, imploring her to act. 

“You need to stop that. You know I can’t say no to you.” 

Arsenal kept looking at her eagerly. Andrea had managed to resist the urge to feed him the dog-treats Pepper had left too often but it was proving harder by the minute. The treats were in the kitchen. The cabinet above the sink. _Maybe I’ll just give him two?_ Andrea thought, not even convincing herself. She also figured that Arsenal sensed her moral weakness when it came to giving him treats. 

Andrea shook her head and firmly told Arsenal, “No,” before walking up the stairs. 

The library at Chalet de Stark had been an excellent place to spend her spare moments. She walked past Steve’s room, the bathroom (Andrea heard the water running. _Steve’s in the shower_ , Andrea thought idly), the master suite and found herself in front of the private library that Pepper had mentioned in her list. She’d spent the morning working on her ‘memoir’, responding to some emails, and trying not to fall down the rabbit hole of video essays on YouTube. Her editor had reached out to check up on her. She’d hesitated before giving him a brief reply: she was fine and would be out of town for a couple of weeks. 

Andrea reached her laptop, still gently humming at the desk, and looked at the email she’d received three days ago. 

`Hello, Ms. Brokaw, `

`I’m Vera Davis with Astoria Publishing. I have been following your work for quite some time now and have been an admirer of yours. I found out through your editors that you’re back from Syria. I understand that you’re not looking to be stationed anywhere at the moment and was wondering if you’d be interested in writing about your comprehensive experiences and having Astoria Publishing share your work. I’d love to set up a meeting with you as soon as possible. As I understand it, you’re out of the city for the holidays. If you’d like to talk, my cell no. as well as skype id are listed below. I’m also giving you my home number. I’m also more than happy to set up a meeting when you’re back in town. `

`Let me know what you think! `

`I look forward to your reply. `

`Kind regards, `

`Vera Davis`

An independent publisher wanted to discuss the possibility of a memoir. _Merry Christmas, Brokaw_ , she thought with a small smile. 

Andrea would have to write in detail about the time she’d spent working in Afghanistan, Sudan, and Syria. She had attempted to start writing about her experiences that morning but had found herself unable to find the right words. 

She never felt like she had the right words. 

Still unsure whether she wanted to open this particular can of worms and relive some of the worst traumas of her life, Andrea sat back in the chair and looked around the room. The soft morning sunshine was peaking behind the curtains that were still drawn on the windows and spilling onto the plush rugs that lay on the floor. The walls, lined with shelves and almost entirely full of books, insulated any sounds from the rest of the house. There was a framed picture of Pepper and Tony at their wedding on the desk. Pepper’s head was thrown back, laughing at some joke Tony or someone off-camera had made, her veil fluttering in the summer air. Tony was holding her in his arms, a loving smile on his face, watching his beautiful bride like he was seeing the sunrise for the first time. A pang of jealousy hit Andrea—not because of Tony, but because of what Tony and Pepper had. Andrea closed her eyes for a couple of seconds and let herself bask in the silence. She’d missed this. The quiet. The solitude. The sting of seeing her friend so happy had left her feeling guilty. Maybe she _should_ write the memoir. At least it would give her something else to focus on. 

Giving up on her thoughts, Andrea got up and walked over to the bookshelf and scanned the titles again. There had been a couple of options that had jumped out at her during her previous visits. She picked out _Homo Sapiens_ by Yuval Noah Harari, a book she’d been meaning to get started on for a couple of months now. Pleased with her choice and guilt nearly forgotten, Andrea walked out of the library, reading the blurb at the back of the book, unaware of where she was going until she walked into a wall of muscle. 

A very wet wall of muscle. 

A very wet, _naked_ wall of muscle. 

“I am so sorry, Steve!” Andrea squeaked, jumping back a few inches after having collided with his back as he exited the bathroom. 

Steve turned around slowly, allowing Andrea’s eyes to roam a little. Water droplets fell from Steve’s shaggy blonde hair onto his shoulders and dripped down his torso, falling into the dips of his back muscles. One hand firmly held a white bath towel around his trim hips and hugged his ass. Andrea had to battle the perverted voice in the back of her head that ordered her to reach out and pull on the towel. 

Steve chuckled a little and said, “Don’t worry about it. Are you okay though?” 

Andrea knew she should answer but found herself unable to form coherent sentences. Her mouth had gone completely dry because her gaze was transfixed on Steve’s beautiful, massive torso that tapered into his Adonis belt. 

_You definitely picked the right name for him, Brokaw_ , her “inner goddess” spoke up. 

Oh god. She was referencing _Fifty Shades of Grey_. That was problematic for two reasons: a) the entire series was trash in her opinion but more importantly b) Andrea did _not_ need a hypersexualized story in her head as she was gawking (yes, she was definitely gawking) at a half-naked Steve Rogers. 

“Andrea?” Steve sounded a little concerned. 

“Hmm?” Andrea finally blinked looking up at his face, and found her voice, “Oh, yeah! Totally. I just wanted a cock—I mean a book!” 

_What. The. Fuck?!_ Andrea stood there mortified for a bit and, without looking at Steve’s reaction, rushed past him. 

“I’ll see you later!” she yelled back as she slammed the door to her room shut, hoping—nay, praying—she’d wake up and discover this was all a dream. 

Until then, she’d make do with the vibrator currently hidden inside her suitcase. 

* * *

Steve still felt flushed. He also wanted to laugh. 

He’d woken up this morning hoping to avoid any embarrassing incidents and go about the day without making an utter ass of himself. 

And here he was, half-naked in the hallway after having jerked off three times in the shower because of a certain luscious housemate. 

Yet… 

_I wanted a cock._

Steve had to stifle a laugh. 

But then he remembered how her gaze had lingered on him, her cheeks turning red, her breathing had changed, and she’d seemed a little dazed. He felt his cock stir a little. 

Bucky’s theory came back to him. _Did she like me?_

Steve shook his head, dislodging the idea from his mind. He needed a bit of space. No reason for him to project his own fantasies onto her. 

He would just get dressed, make some coffee, and go for a run. 

Steve had, after all, always liked plans.


	11. Marshmallow Woes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the absence, guys! I've just been stuck and writer's block hit pretty hard. I'm hopeful that I'll have a few more updates this week for y'all! Enjoy! <3

Steve opened the door and walked inside the cottage, shaking off snowflakes from his hair. It had started to snow just as he’d finished his run and the air inside immediately started warming him. Sam had managed to email Steve a dossier he’d been waiting for. There had been some buzz about a Hydra facility near D.C. that was trying to sell arms to the Russians using the US government as a front for its operations. He’d been waiting for this lead for months and Sam had managed to get some new information from one of his informants.

Arsenal came bounding to the door and Steve couldn’t help but play with him a little. He spent the next few minutes giving the pup belly rubs. 

“All right, buddy,” he said, standing up again, “let’s get some hot cocoa going. Papa needs to work and some distance from your favorite person.” 

Arsenal tilted his head in confusion. 

“It’s not her, it’s me. Actually,” he amended, “it’s my reaction to her.” 

He had no idea why he was justifying himself to a dog. Still, he continued. 

“I like her too much, bud. Don’t wanna overwhelm her.” 

At that, Arsenal let out a little whine and looked at Steve reproachfully. Steve couldn’t help but feel bad. 

“All right. How about I ask her if she wants to watch a movie?” 

Arsenal’s tail told Steve he’d made the right call. _You shouldn’t be wasting time on a movie right now, Rogers. People’s lives are at stake here_ , the rational part of his brain (that sometimes sounded an awful lot like Bucky and Peggy) spoke up. 

He’d already waited a few months for this lead. Another hour or so wouldn’t make much of a difference. 

Running up the stairs, Steve raised his hand to knock on Andrea’s door when he heard a low buzzing sound from the other side. He hesitated, hand hovering in front of the door. As he geared himself to knock, he heard it. A throaty moan. It was faint as if the person making the sound was trying to be quiet but Steve’s ears caught it. He felt his cheeks get flushed and heart sped up a little. _This is wrong_ , he thought as he continued to stare at the door, resisting the urge to bust it open when a faint whimper sounded from the other side. 

Steve, knowing he should probably walk away, didn’t fully understand what made him knock on the door anyway. 

The buzzing cut off, followed by the tell-tale sounds of someone scrambling on the other side of the door, “Y-yeah?” 

“Hey, I’m back from my run,” he stalled before continuing, “Was about to make some hot cocoa and watch a movie. You wanna join?” Steve was attempting to sound casual. Arsenal stood a few feet away looking at him expectantly. 

“Sure! Give me a minute. I’ll come in a bit—I mean I’ll see you downstairs!” 

Steve couldn’t help noticing the innuendo in her response. Andrea sounded a little out of breath, but he left it alone. 

“Ummm… Sure thing.” 

He did not need to stick around and picture her behind that door. 

* * *

Andrea sat back on the bed, perspiration dripping down her neck, mortified at having been nearly caught masturbating by the very man she was masturbating over. 

Her heart still hammered in her chest. _Had he heard her?_ Probably not. Right? She was adept at being quiet. 

While her brain tried to rationalize the reality of how Steve hadn’t heard anything, a tiny voice reminded her that she had been separated from Steve by a measly four feet and a locked wooden door. 

A door that he’d probably have been able to rip open if he wanted to. 

Andrea instinctively felt her thighs clench. 

_Get a grip, Brokaw!_

Instead of dwelling on any fantasies her over-sexed imagination could conjure up, Andrea quickly donned her shirt and grabbed her robe, heading for the bathroom before venturing downstairs. No need for Steve to really find out what she’d been up to. 

Belatedly, Andrea had a thought: _Steve didn’t know what vibrators were, did he?_

* * *

Steve was still looking for the marshmallows when Andrea walked into the kitchen, wearing a maroon knit sweater and black leggings. The sweater clung to her torso, accentuating her curves, while the black leggings showed off her shapely thighs. 

“Thicc” is what they called her thighs these days, Peter had informed Steve recently. He couldn’t help but laugh at that memory. 

Andrea looked a bit flushed, her skin seemed to almost glow. Steve felt his eyebrows furrow. 

_Was she catching a cold?_

She caught his eye and immediately looked away, her blush continuing to spread down her neck. 

_Oh. Right._

She wasn’t sick. She was… Doing… the thing… with the… buzz buzz. 

_Christ, Rogers, get a grip._

“Hey, know where the marshmallows might be?” Steve asked her, desperate to change his cognitive trajectory. 

“Umm,” Andrea pulled the ends of her sleeves over her palms while walking closer to the stove, “I think I saw them up here the other day.” 

She pulled out the step-stool from under the sink and got on it to look in the cabinet next to the stove. 

“I didn’t know the Captain America diet allowed marshmallows,” she remarked. 

Steve looked over to answer when he realized she was hiding a grin. She was teasing him. 

“Well, there are some exceptions,” he smiled, walking over to where she was and leaning against the counter to look at her progress. 

“I should hope so. I can’t imagine being so restricted in what I can and can't eat. Oh!” She exclaimed, “Speaking of which! I think I see it. It’s all the way back here. Hold on—” 

The rest of what Andrea was about to say was cut off by a yelp. Her foot, which was already too close to the edge of the step-stool, had slipped off the side, sending her careening off the stool and towards Steve, who had instinctively reached out to steady her. 

“Woah, there.” 

Steve would have a hard time making himself forget this moment, he realized. 

His hands held Andrea around the dip of her waist, thumbs firmly tucked under the swell of her breasts. Andrea’s hands had fallen on his shoulders to steady herself. Steve silently remarked on the softness of her frame. The gentle weight in his hands. Brown eyes, wide and probing, stared into his own. They both remained silent for what felt like hours. 

Absentmindedly, Steve readjusted his hands for a better grip, secretly reveling in the feel of her in his hands. 

Andrea jerked a little. Thinking he’d made her uncomfortable, Steve lowered his hands further. The hands on his shoulders gripped harder as a giggle fell from Andrea’s lips. Steve was a little confused when Andrea clarified, “I’m _really_ ticklish.” 

Steve immediately let go and apologized. With that, Andrea straightened up. 

“It’s all the way in the back,” she stated, reminding Steve of what they’d actually been trying to do in the first place. 

_Right. Marshmallows._

“I’ll get it.” 

“You _are_ 12 feet taller than me,” Andrea conceded, stepping down. 

Steve chuckled as he stepped up to the counter and looked into the cabinet. He realized, in that instance, he was quite eager to spend the next few hours watching literally any movie as long as Andrea was there.


	12. As Brave As Them

“So, the memoir is supposed to make you relive everything from the past decade of your life?” Steve asked incredulously. 

“Pretty much,” Andrea chuckled without humor. 

Steve was silent for a moment. The sun was beginning to set past the horizon as they walked towards the lake, Arsenal trying to drag Steve to a snow-covered bush to investigate the shrubbery. Andrea dragged the winter coat around her further to keep the biting cold at bay. 

“Do you really want to do that?” 

Andrea considered his question, mulling over her answer for a minute before responding, “It’s not about whether I want to relive it or not. In a way, it’s not about me. I mean, if I write it, yes, I make money off my own suffering and the publishers and editors make money off anyone else who suffered during the ordeal. But I guess it goes back to the core of my profession. It’s about creating a more informed electorate.” 

Steve grunted. It sounded mildly annoyed. 

“Has no one talked to you about writing a book, yet?” Andrea asked, genuinely amazed at the possibility. He _was_ Captain America, a World War II veteran, a war hero who had been given the mother of all steroids and had survived 70 years frozen in the icy wastelands near the North Atlantic Ocean. If anyone had a bestseller on their hands, it was Steve Rogers. 

“Ha! Yeah, I think there were a few people trying to get in touch with me but S.H.I.E.L.D. kept them off my back. Then, Stark Industries took over after… Well, after the whole Hydra thing went down.” 

“So, you’ve never considered it?” 

“Nah. What happened, happened. There’s no going back to that life, you know? The best I can do is try to move on.” Steve said, tugging on Arsenal’s leash to get him back on the path. 

“I respect that,” Andrea replied. 

“How much have you written so far?” 

She laughed without humor again. 

“Not far at all! I’m just stuck. Can’t seem to find the words,” Andrea said, echoing her thoughts from earlier, “I feel like I’m stuck in more than one way these days.” Steve looked over at her and, again, Andrea felt like he understood. Without needing any kind of explanation or elaboration, he just got it. And just like that, Andrea didn’t feel so alone, didn’t feel so stuck anymore. 

“I remember the first time I headed back to Brooklyn after waking up,” Steve started, looking down at Arsenal and watching the pup’s movements, “It had been a month or so since I’d been back, so I thought I was used to a lot of the ‘newness.’ But I wasn’t. Nowhere near it. The whole city looked different. And not just ‘cause I was 70 years late, but ‘cause of what I went through before I went under. It changes you. You feel different and you see people from your previous life and they expect you to stay the same, but you aren’t. And you’re right. You can’t seem to find the words to make them understand what happened.” 

Steve looked at her again and said, “War changes you. It’s the oldest cliché in the book but it’s so true. And every war you find yourself in seems to chip away at the person you were before. Seeing death in person, day in, day out. It’s not meant for everyone. Not everyone comes back whole. And if you’re still willing to relive those experiences so that others who haven’t been to those hells can at least understand the horrors of what people can put each other through, then you’re as brave as the soldiers I’ve served with.” 

Andrea blinked away the moisture in her eyes. Her throat worked wordlessly to get rid of the lump that had formed while Steve spoke. Not trusting herself to speak, Andrea nodded while pulling her arms even more tightly around herself and hoped Steve understood how much she appreciated his words. 

Giant, heavy arms engulfed her and stopped her from walking. She was cradled against Steve’s muscular chest, his arms stroking her back. 

Comfort. 

Andrea blinked furiously to stop from crying but the tears began spilling with abandon. 

“It’s okay. I got you. I got you,” Steve began whispering as he held her, his grip tightening a little when Andrea’s arms went around his waist. 

She didn’t know how long they stood there, arms around each other, her taking comfort from him. 

It felt good. 

It felt _right_. 

It wasn’t until a soft whine came from below them, that they realized they’d been standing like that for nearly ten minutes while Arsenal had been politely waiting to finish his walk. 

“Sorry, bud,” Steve laughed, slowly letting go of Andrea, before glancing at her and warning, “And don’t you dare apologize for that.” 

“Yes, Captain,” Andrea teased, wiping her tears and holding her hands up in surrender.


	13. Cold Nights, Warm Drinks

“Weather Alert: Snowfall to commence in 7 minutes. Temperatures will reach -20⸰ F. Local weather stations recommend staying indoors during this time,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice filled the room. 

“Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y., any possibility of power outages today?” Steve asked. 

“That would be minimal, Captain. Boss has me on three separate power grids though and the house has its own backup generators. We should be fine,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. responded. 

And that’s when the lights went out. 

“Umm,” Steve looked around the living room, “Repeat that last bit to me, F.R.I.D.AY.?” 

“I’m—I’m running a system’s check, Captain. This is unusual. I’d recommend you, Ms. Brokaw, and Arsenal stay in a common area while I’m doing this.” 

Steve realized the AI sounded worried. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you give me a status report while running the system’s check?” Steve asked, needing to assess the situation. He wasn’t sure why, but he had a feeling something was very, very wrong. Tony didn’t make mistakes when it came to his tech. 

“I’m trying, Captain. The generators seem to be functional but they’re not kicking in for some reason. I’m seeing nominal interruptions in the generators. I’m not sure what’s causing the interference.” 

Andrea came bounding down the stairs, flashlight in hand, Arsenal in tow. 

“What’s going on? The power just went down. I thought Tony had backups for his backups?” 

Steve relayed whatever F.R.I.D.A.Y. had told him so far to Andrea, her eyebrows getting further furrowed as she listened. 

“Has anyone called the power station yet?” Andrea asked, reaching for her phone from her back pocket. 

Steve countered, “Maybe we should call Tony first since his backups aren’t working?” 

“And ruin his trip? No, sir. He’d feel terrible if he found out that he’d left us stranded with no way out.” 

“Should I call one of the guys?” 

“That would just make them worry.” 

“Maybe a text to Tony would be fine?” 

Andrea looked uncomfortable with the idea. He understood why. They’d still be distracting Tony from a family trip that he and Pepper had been planning for months. Tony needed this. After everything. But they also needed to find out what was going on with the power system since they needed it. You know. To stay warm. And alive. 

“I guess,” Andrea finally conceded. 

“Okay,” Steve said, reaching for his phone. 

He typed: `Hey, Tony. Sorry to bother. The power just went out 10 minutes ago and the backups aren’t working. F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s fine but we’re sitting in the cold and the dark. Any idea how we can fix this? `

“Okay. Sent.” 

Barely a minute had passed when Steve’s phone lit up. 

`Oh. Wow. Oh no. Well. Naked cuddles usually fix the first problem. The dark doesn’t affect most people at that point. `

“What did he say?” Andrea asked, stepping closer to look at his phone. 

Steve nearly yelled, “Nothing! He said he’ll look into it,” as he quickly yanked his phone out of her line of sight. 

`Tony. This isn’t funny. Did you do this?`

`Moi? You’re accusing me??? `

A second text followed. 

`Of course, Cap. I was tired of waiting for you guys to bang. Thought I’d help out. `

“Well, if that’s the case. I guess I’ll just,” Andrea paused, “Wow. What can I do right now?” 

Steve had to exert every ounce of self-control to stop himself from suggesting naked cuddles. Or simply responding with “me?” 

“We could,” Steve started a little awkwardly, “have a drink? I’ll get a fire going to keep us warm?” 

Andrea stood still for a moment before slowly nodding, “Yeah, I heard F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s alert earlier. It’s gonna get really cold.” 

“Excellent!” said Steve, “I mean not the part about being stuck in a cold wasteland with no power but the fire and the drinks,” he finished lamely. 

Andrea laughed, “I thought you couldn’t get drunk?” 

Steve looked at her quizzically. How had she known that? 

“Umm. Pepper might have mentioned it once,” she looked away. Steve felt himself redden like a schoolboy. A girl he liked had talked to her friend about him. _Jesus, Rogers._

“Well, you’re not wrong. No alcohol on Earth can get me drunk. However,” he said, thinking of the liquor cabinet in the kitchen, “Asgardian mead seems to do the trick.”


	14. Truth or Dare?

So, there they were an hour later. Sitting cross-legged in front of the roaring fire, a bottle of scotch and a flask of Asgardian mead that Thor had left for Steve (and had left an extra bottle in Tony’s possession) between them. Steve had brought down some blankets and thrown them on the floor for them to sit on and dragged some of the couch cushions and tried to make the floor cozier. He realized belatedly that he was nervous. He had caught himself rearranging the cushions every few seconds, not entirely sure if the display was inviting enough. 

Andrea had gotten more animated as the liquor worked its way through her system. She was a lightweight, Steve noted idly. She’d barely started her third drink, but her cheeks were flushed, hands moving with gusto, as she recounted a story from Syria when her team had been trapped with a group of civilians as rebels shot at government forces. 

“There was this little girl, barely five, who didn’t really understand what was going on, I guess,” she said, laying down on her side, “she seemed to think we were playing a game. So, while Derrick—my camera guy—shot some footage, I just,” she shrugged a little, “played with her. She didn’t need to understand.” 

Her hand held up her head while she drew patterns on one of the blankets, breaking eye contact for the first time since they’d sat down, unaware of how the pose accentuated the dip of her waist and the dramatic flare of her hips. 

Steve hurriedly took a sip of his drink. 

Though he was no lightweight, the mead was beginning to warm him. He’d discarded his jacket earlier and even now the grey jumper felt a little too heavy. He adjusted his posture, subconsciously moving closer to Andrea. He glanced over at her, watching as she took another swig of the amber liquid in her glass, wetting her lips. 

Steve gulped. Almost like a cartoon character. 

They were only separated by some inches. Her hands were near his knee. Andrea’s proximity seemed to make the alcohol’s effects more potent. He felt a low buzz settle in his bloodstream. 

“Anywho,” Andrea snorted, breaking the spell a little, “that’s not really a fun topic of conversation. Sorry,” she murmured, looking up at him. She sat up straight and tucked her loose hair behind her ear. Her skin seemed to come alive under the glow of the fire. When she reached over to the bottle of scotch to top off her drink, the sweater slipped off one golden shoulder. 

He just wanted a taste. 

A little taste. 

Mesmerized, Steve heard himself respond in a stage-whisper: 

“You are so fucking breathtaking.” 

“What?” Andrea said absentmindedly, setting her sweater right. 

“Nothing!” 

Steve shook his head, breaking free of the trance he was in. Boundaries are safe, he reminded himself. 

“Let’s play Truth or Dare!” Andrea declared to the room at large, almost like she expected more people to join in. 

Or not. 

“Sure,” he said eagerly, “you go first.” 

Arsenal padded into the room and, as Andrea started to speak, laboriously wedged himself between the couch and where Andrea sat, forcing her to shift closer to Steve, balancing her drink in one hand. 

“You know, for a dog, you sure do act a lot like Tony,” she muttered before turning to Steve, “Okay. Truth or Dare?” 

Steve didn’t even consider it, “Truth.” 

“Justice and Freedom!” Andrea giggled, “Geddit? Because you’re Captain America?” 

She fell back in a fit of laughter, one hand clutching her stomach. Steve couldn’t help the corresponding chuckle that escaped him. 

“Funny,” he nodded. Somehow the tired joke didn’t seem so tired when she made it. 

“Okay, sorry,” she sobered up a little, “so, okay. Truth. What’s something you’d wanna do right now with Bucky and Sam?” 

Steve considered it for a moment. If he was being _really honest_ , he didn’t want to do anything with them right now—not if it meant giving up his time with Andrea. Or worse, _sharing_ his time with her. Especially with those two. 

“I’d wanna ask them to water my plants,” he replied dryly. 

“Why?” 

“Because I asked them to do that while I was away,” he shrugged. 

“Steve,” Andrea sighed, taking another sip of her drink, “you’re not playing the game right. Come on, ask me a question. Truth. I pick truth.” 

Steve felt goosebumps erupt at the idea of asking Andrea the questions he’d been dying to ask her. 

_Can I hold you?_

_Can I kiss you?_

_Can I feast on that delectable body of yours that’s been making me drool for weeks and keeping me up at night in more than one way?_

Before he’d decided on a more appropriate set of questions, he blurted out, “When’s the last time you had an intimate relationship?” 

He immediately felt himself turn three shades of red simultaneously. _What is wrong with you, Rogers?!_

“I meant—” 

“Three years, four months, and seventeen days,” Andrea answered, looking up as she counted, “It’s been one _hell_ of a dry spell,” she laughed. 

“Is that what you meant when you said you missed being touched?” 

Andrea looked at him funny. 

“Yeah, I did. How did you remember that? That was weeks ago?” 

Steve didn’t need her to know about his stellar memory. 

“What’s stopped you from being intimate with someone since?” Steve felt hungry, no, ravenous for answers. He felt himself move closer to her on the floor. They were merely inches apart. He could count her eyelashes, note her lips parting a little, her eyes widening at his proximity or his questions. He wanted to lean in until she was on her back, pressing himself against her softness. 

“Ummm,” Andrea swallowed, her throat catching Steve’s eye, “I think you’re only supposed to ask one question,” she breathed, putting her drink down. 

“Why don’t we make our own rules?” Steve whispered, his inhibitions, doubts, and unfounded guilt having left him a few minutes ago. The only thing Steve cared about was the gorgeous woman in front of him. He wanted to peal the sweater off of her and kiss her skin. He was desperate to see her. All of her. His skin itched, the grey jumper making him feel unseasonably hot. 

“What kind of rules?” Andrea glanced at his lips. 

“The kind where you answer my question about why you haven’t let someone touch you in three years, four months and seventeen days.” 

Andrea’s breath hitched in her throat. 

“No time. No one interested,” she whispered back, looking away. 

No one interested? What the hell did that mean? How could anyone with a pulse and a brain not be interested? 

“Truth or dare?” Andrea asked him, and Steve was certain he heard a sniffle. 

“Dare,” Steve whispered. 

Lightening illuminated the moonless night. A clap of thunder sounded from above sending the windows shuddering. At that sound, Andrea yelped and jumped onto Steve’s lap, clinging to his shoulders with her head tucked under his chin. 

_She smells like peaches_ , Steve’s alcohol-addled brain that had turned into Pepé le Pew told him. 

Steve’s hands went around Andrea, one hand on her back while the other slid to her thigh, his thumb hooking onto the crook where her thigh met her pelvis. 

“Andrea?” Steve noticed the tiny shivers that were still shaking her frame. 

“That wasn’t an IED, was it?” Andrea whispered into his neck. 

Steve felt his arms tighten around her. 

“No, it wasn’t,” he answered back, “Just thunder.” 

“Do you mind if I stay here like for a bit?” 

Steve didn’t answer verbally. He just readjusted her on his lap, so he had a better grip on her. 

“You got two questions in. My turn. Truth or dare?” Steve asked. 

Andrea just chuckled.


	15. Bad Ideas

_This was a bad idea_ , Andrea realized when she found herself off the path and among snow-covered trees with the cottage nowhere in sight. 

Steve had decided to take Arsenal on a walk to the lake on his own, despite Andrea’s insistence that she’d accompany them. 

“The weather’s not that great right now. We’ll be back before you’re done with your afternoon tea,” Steve promised as he donned his winter coat, leash in hand. 

It had started snowing in the morning again, leaving them with a few more inches of fresh snow on the porch and the paths that led to the woods as well as the lake. Andrea had felt a little cooped up for a bit, having only been outside to walk Arsenal, which Steve insisted on doing alone in the evenings. Once he’d left, she put some chicken breasts in the sink to thaw out, wanting to try out a chicken tikka masala recipe she’d been given by her grandmother. All the ingredients were in the kitchen and she wouldn’t have to start cooking for another two hours. 

_Perfect time to explore the woods a little_ , Andrea thought, putting on her hat and jacket. 

Andrea wasn’t an expert hiker by any means, but she’d spent plenty of time around rough terrain in North Africa. What she hadn’t realized was that snow would be harder to navigate. The first twenty minutes or so had been great. She’d stuck to the path. The snow was thick under her boots, but the air was still. The melancholic light bled through the snow-covered branches above her. She remembered the photography class she’d taken with Pepper in college; the days they’d go on similar hikes searching for foliage to photograph for their projects. Andrea took her phone out and attempted to find the best angle for the tree before the last bit of daylight slipped away. She'd always gravitated towards trees. In her art and in real life. A Jeffery McDaniel quote always came to her when looking at naked trees, “There’s something incredibly honest about trees in winter, how they’re experts at letting things go.” 

Andrea couldn’t help the sad smile that played on her lips. 

She spent the next several minutes chasing after interesting or downright weird things to photograph. Icicles that once tried dripping off branches, the occasional squirrel that happened to be poking its nose out of its den, trees covered in snow that still retained their leaves. Soon though, she’d wandered away from the path. 

As darkness began to engulf her, branches cracked in the little clearing ahead of her. When she looked up from her phone, she realized her mistake. Andrea had gotten so preoccupied with the tree that she hadn’t seen her guest; a coyote sniffed the snow near the undergrowth in the clearing. 

Andrea felt her pulse quicken. 

_Shit, shit, shit_. Adrenalin pumped through her system, prepping her for the inevitable instinct to run from danger. She forced herself to stay calm as she slowly got behind the tree next to her, never taking her eyes off the coyote. 

_Let’s be smart about this. Coyote. Predatory animal. If I run, it runs after me._

Andrea unironically thanked her past self for watching so many nature documentaries in her spare time instead of going out with friends and socializing. The coyote began circumambulating trees while sniffing the ground. 

With bated breaths, she backed away diagonally from the tree, zigzagging around others, keeping the coyote in her line of sight but also incrementally increasing the distance between them. The snow muffled the sounds of her boots and Andrea thanked every higher power out there for the ridiculous amounts of snow they’d been subjected to in the past four days. 

Once she was about 40 feet away from the creature, Andrea figured she could walk back and try to find the path. The coyote trotted off into the deep forest, its golden coat muted in the darkness. 

Andrea felt her shoulders drop and the tightness in her chest loosen as the coyote retreated. It had gotten significantly darker and the chances of finding the path on her own were a bit unlikely. She glanced at her phone to pull up GPS to help locate the cottage, but the app flashed a “Not connected to a Wi-Fi network or mobile data” sign. 

_Shit._

* * *

“I know you think I’m hiding from her but I’m just trying not to maul her.” 

Steve stood at the edge of the lake with his hands on his hips as he spoke to a very stubborn Arsenal, who refused to get up and walk back. They had spent the last hour and a half at the lake. Normally the walks didn’t take that long, but Steve had tossed a frisbee around and Arsenal had been ecstatic. Steve had realized a few days ago that Arsenal was quite fond of the snow and couldn’t resist the urge to indulge him. 

The pup stared up at him with reproachful eyes for his excuse; Steve admitted he'd sounded more than a little creepy. 

“She’s…,” Steve sighed, “she’s hurting right now. The last thing she needs is anything complicated. I’m complicated, bud.” 

His mind flashed to the last few years. The alien invasions, secrets, lies, conspiracies. The absolute worst thing for Andrea, as she tried to get back to civilian life, was to be hurled back into his mess. 

Steve looked back longingly in the direction of the cottage. _But I like the idea of her being in “my” mess. Being in my life._

“Come on, bud,” Steve cajoled Arsenal and they slowly made their way back to the cottage. 

As it came into the line of sight, Steve noticed the lights weren’t on. It had gotten pretty dark. _Did the lights go out again?_

But Tony wouldn’t mess with them like that again. Especially not since Pepper had apparently yelled at him after Andrea mentioned the faulty generators to her the next day. _Had the power gone out for real this time?_

Steve jogged the short distance to the cottage, Arsenal dutifully matching his pace. Once there, the pup began sniffing the porch, going around the open space. Steve attempted to open the door but found it locked. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Steve called out. 

“Yes, Captain Rogers?” the AI spoke up. 

“Is the power out again?” 

“All systems are working perfectly fine, Captain.” 

“Why are the lights out?” 

“Ms. Brokaw left for a walk earlier and I figured I’d try to save the earth a little. I ignored Boss’s timer for the lights.” 

“How long has it been?” Steve asked, his heart thumping in his chest. 

“Since I started ignoring his orders?” 

“No, no. Since Andrea left? Shouldn’t she be back by now? It’s dark out and the weather’s not great.” Steve felt his breath deepen. She hadn’t… Left? Had she? 

“Oh. It’s been… Oh. It’s been a while. I hadn’t realized Captain Rogers. She left about ten minutes after you did. It’s been almost two hours.” Steve felt the leash in his hand being tugged. He looked down to see Arsenal desperately tugging on the leash as he stared intently at the woods. He barked at the woods and whined when he couldn’t run after whatever it was he saw. _Or maybe he smelled a scent? Andrea?_

“Arsenal? Bud?” Steve said, crouching down to where the pup stood with unprecedented focus. 

“Do you know where she is? Can you find her, bud?” Arsenal turned to Steve when he spoke and tried to lick his face, tail wagging enthusiastically. 

Steve unhooked the leash from Arsenal’s collar and the dog bounded towards the woods. 

Keeping his eyes on the dog, Steve called to the AI, “F.R.I.D.A.Y., if I’m not back in the next hour, I need you to inform whatever emergency service is available.” 

Without waiting for confirmation, Steve broke into a run after Arsenal. 

The forest looked ominous in the dark. Steve was chiding himself for not bringing a flashlight when he remembered his phone. 

Arsenal stopped a few steps away and tried to relocate Andrea’s scent. Steve pulled out his phone and dialed her number, hoping and praying she’d pick up. When he got her voicemail for the third time, Steve’s heart threatened to seize up. _Focus, Rogers._

He switched on his phone’s flashlight and followed Arsenal’s lead. 

As they made their way deeper into the forest, panic began scraping its way through his stomach. _Why would she go off the path? Did someone take her?_

Flashes of captivity and torture made bile claw up his throat. Bucky had told him some of his experiences with Hydra. Steve’s hands curled into fists. _Had they threatened her? Hurt her?_

_No, no. Don’t do this. Keep looking for her. Don’t lose focus._

The forest felt dense. Unwelcoming. Distinct sounds of forest life interrupted the night. An owl hooted somewhere above him. In the distance, he thought he heard howls. Pepper’s checklist came back to him. She’d mentioned coyotes. 

Steve’s pace quickened. 

* * *

After what felt like hours but could easily have been minutes, Arsenal barked as he ran headfirst down a hill. 

Steve bounded to the top of the hill and felt his heart plummet in his chest when he looked at the foot of the hill. 

Andrea lay next to a tree presumably unconscious. Her jacket was covered in snow and she was curled up a little. Arsenal was already next to her, licking her face to try and wake her up. 

Steve raced down the hill. Arsenal, seeing his efforts fail, barked at her when she didn’t get up. 

“Good boy, Arsenal,” Steve whispered to the pup before giving him a kiss on his head. 

He reached out for Andrea and gently lifted her head. 

“Andrea? Can you hear me?” his voice coming out a little hoarse. 

No response. 

“Andrea? Sweetheart?” he gently cupped her cheek and patted her to help her wake up. Pulling her torso into his arms, Steve noticed a small cut near her temple, dried blood matted her hair together. Her lips looked almost white; tiny tremors rocked her. He felt himself go pale. 

“Doll, I need you to wake up, okay?” his voice cracking in the still night. 

Andrea stirred. Her eyelids flickered. 

“S-S-Steve?” she croaked, opening her eyes to look up at him. Relief flooded through him. 

Before he could respond, Andrea clambered onto his lap and threw her legs behind his back, securing her arms around his neck. 

“S-so c-c-cold,” she mumbled again his neck as he struggled to maintain his balance. Andrea snuggled in closer, unknowingly grinding her hips on his crotch. 

Steve breathed through his teeth and asked, “Are you okay?” 

“S-s-shh, I’ll be f-f-fine. L-le-t m-me s-stay l-l-like this.” 

Steve put his arms around her and pulled her impossibly closer. He could feel the firm weight of her breasts pushed up against his chest. Despite his cock wanting to snuggle into some pretty different parts of her, his heart found itself lodged in his throat. 

_She’s fine. She’s safe. She’s here._

“Sure thing, doll. I’ll walk us back,” he said, standing up effortlessly. Andrea clung to his front like a koala. 

“Oh, n-no. T-too heav-vy.” 

Steve growled as he instinctively spanked her on one buttcheek. Andrea yipped, pulling herself even closer to him, but offered no further arguments. _You really shouldn’t have enjoyed that so much, Rogers._

“Hush. This’ll be fast.” 

He looked down to Arsenal, who’d been circling them enthusiastically, knowing he’d saved the day. 

“Okay, boy. Let’s head back.” 

The pup followed behind Steve as they made their way back to the cottage.


	16. How to Avoid Trouble: An Unhelpful Guide by Steve Rogers

“Okay,” Steve said, letting the cottage door slam shut behind him, “Your clothes are wet, so we need to get those off and start warming you up.” 

Andrea giggled a little, “I n-never thought you’d be so willing to take my c-clothes off, Steve,” she leaned in close to his ear and whispered, “or be so intent on g-getting me o-off.” 

Steve prayed for patience. Like, he actually prayed. The way his mother taught him how. 

He’d had to walk back the 30-minute trek sporting a raging hard-on while the cause of his erection snuggled against him and whispered her delirious (and often horny) thoughts as she clung to him like her life depended on it. Which it probably did. 

Steve sobered up and concentrated on the task at hand. Preventing hypothermia. 

Unfortunately for him, a delirious Andrea was also an _amorous_ Andrea. 

As Arsenal made his way to his daybed in the living room, Steve climbed the stairs two at a time and found himself standing in his room. He gently shut the door with his foot and extracted Andrea off him before depositing her on his bed. 

“Okay, sweetheart, I’m going to take your jacket and your boots off, okay?” 

She nodded serenely. 

After the jacket and boots, Steve reached for the hem of her sweater, which was surprisingly damp, before stopping, “Are you wearing anything under this, doll?” 

He didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable as he helped her. 

“S-sure am!” Andrea declared happily. 

Steve nodded and pulled the sweater halfway off her torso before realizing she’d lied. Steve’s mouth went dry while his eyes nearly popped out of his head—she’d been naked under the sweater except for the crimson bra that lovingly held her full breasts. 

Steve immediately pulled the sweater down. Andrea burst into laughter and fell back on his bed. 

“You said you were wearing something under it!” Steve accused her, his face heating up as his erection came back with a vengeance. 

“I am, silly!” she laughed, “a b-bra!” 

Steve would’ve laughed with her if he’d have had any blood left in his brain. 

_I'm in so much goddamn trouble_ , he thought as he prayed for patience and self-restraint. 

“How about this? I’ll go grab some dry clothes from your room and then you can change out of these on your own? I’ll give you some privacy.” 

“N-need help with pants,” Andrea mumbled, closing her eyes. 

“Hey, hey. First, change. Then you can sleep.” 

“Fine,” she sighed, “Take my pants off, please?” she reached down and unbuttoned her jeans, pulling the zipper down towards him. 

A growl rumbled in his chest at the desperation in her voice. Without thinking, Steve’s hands went to Andrea’s hips and painfully slowly dragged the jeans down her thick thighs. He noticed her underwear didn’t match the bra she wore; it was a simple pair of navy-colored cotton panties. Something about this melted his heart. She wasn’t trying to entice him; this wasn’t a seductress working her magic. But here he was: enticed and seduced by her normalcy. 

Steve threw her wet jeans on the floor. _Clothes. Right._

He hurried out of his room and went into hers to look for some warm and, more importantly, dry clothes. He grabbed a pair of plum-colored silk pajamas on the bed. _This should be fine._ He’d just make sure to tuck her in. Maybe under twenty-five blankets. Just to be safe. 

Steve was trying to remember the recipe for chicken soup that his mother used to make for him and Bucky when they were kids as he walked back to his room and stopped short when he saw her. 

Andrea had curled up on his bed wearing one of his shirts. The grey t-shirt hung loosely around her shoulders but tight around her hips. Steve slowly approached the bed, feeling something bloom in his chest; it wasn’t an emotion he immediately recognized. 

He tossed the pajamas on top of the dresser and leaned over the bed to pull the blankets on her, tucking her in. She was still shivering a little. Frowning, Steve checked her forehead. She was still very cold. 

“Sweetheart?” he said in a low voice. 

“Hmm?” she responded, brows furrowing as she slowly opened her eyes. 

“Are you still cold?” 

“Y-yeah. Your b-bed’s not that warm,” she tried laughing, “it’s p-probably hotter with you in it.” 

“Do you want me to jump in to help warm you?” Steve joked, knowing she'd deny his not-entirely-unwanted-request. 

She nodded enthusiastically, taking him by surprise. Her stammer was fading a little, which made him feel better. 

"Are you sure?" 

She nodded again, 

Steve quickly discarded his coat and sweater, toeing off his boots. He was trying to appear calm and not eager, but his palms had gotten a little sweaty. _You’re helping restore her body temperature to normal, this isn’t an invitation for “fondue.”_

Andrea sat up and scooted to the other side of the bed, her eyes following his every move. Steve couldn’t help but want to flex his biceps. Just a little. 

“Your jeans,” Andrea barked, looking a little panicked, “look a little damp.” 

Steve looked at her quizzically; Andrea simply shrugged sheepishly. 

“Err. Right,” Steve started backing away towards the door, “I’ll be right back.” 

Andrea rolled her eyes, “Steve, just take them off. We might as well m-match,” she said, gesturing to herself. 

Steve just nodded as he took his pants off. 

The serum that Steve had been given more than 70 years ago had plenty of perks: endurance, strength, higher intelligence, powerful recall ability, agility, the ability to not get drunk or hungover. The one perk that he was grateful for right now was his body temperature—his ran higher than normal. 

His boxer briefs showcasing his significant erection, on the other hand, was not useful right now. 

As he got under the covers, Steve laid on his back to avoid giving Andrea the wrong impression. She scooted close to Steve before sliding back under the covers. He was contemplating how to proceed when he noted the tremors that shook her body every few seconds. Steve turned towards her and gently but firmly started rubbing his hands up her arms. 

“Oh, God, y-yes,” Andrea said in a harsh whisper before pushing Steve on his back again and scrambling on top to give him a bear hug. Her bent legs fell on either side of his hips as she flattened herself on him. 

It didn’t take long for Steve to realize that she’d shed her bra before putting on his shirt. The softness of her breasts pushing against him, her weight on top of him nearly undid him. She was poised on him, half-naked. Wearing his shirt. He couldn’t deny how _right_ that felt. She was wearing _his_ shirt. _With nothing else on except her panties._

Steve stifled a groan. 

“You’re so warm,” Andrea moaned, as she rubbed up against him like a cat. 

Steve whimpered when her actions made her rub up against his cock, which had gotten impossibly hard in the last few minutes. Before she could realize what a perv he was, Steve put one hand on her back and the other on her hip to stop her from continuing—even though he _really_ wanted her to continue. 

“Andrea,” he breathed, prompting her to look at him, “you might need to stop doing that.” 

A worried pair of coffee-colored eyes looked up at him, before widening in alarm. 

“I’m too heavy! I’m so sorry!” Before she could crawl off him, Steve secured both hands around her lower back, pinning her to him. 

“If you say one more thing about being ‘too heavy’ for me, I swear to god I will bend you over my knee and spank the fuck out of you.” 

The memory of her sprawled on top him came back to Steve. A memory that was quickly taken over by the fantasy of having her bare ass in front of him. 

Andrea was a smart woman which is why she didn’t argue that point. Or at least that’s what Steve thought. She hadn’t looked away from him since he'd issued his threat. Her hands caressed his arms as they were pressed together chest to chest. A fire he couldn’t recognize lit her eyes up. It was like staring at the sun. Steve couldn’t look away. _She’s gorgeous._

Then, she leaned in until her lips were next to his ear. Her loose hair tickled his nose and face. 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Rogers,” she whispered. 

Lust, unbidden and fiery, exploded in his belly. Steve’s heart was a marching band as he watched her shift and, after a moment of hesitation, claim his mouth. 

Steve felt like fireworks had ignited in his chest. It was a chaste kiss—her full, soft lips were pressed against his, somehow still tentative, as if she weren’t sure how it would be reciprocated. He wanted more. Every dirty fantasy he’d had about the woman on top of him came flooding back to him. A raging river of images for his parched body. Gently running his tongue on the seam of her lips, he coaxed her to deepen the kiss. 

The moment Andrea granted access, the last semblance of control Steve had been holding onto shattered. Steve ran his hands over her arms until he brought her wrists behind her back and held them there. He sat up, never breaking the kiss. Steve held her arms back with one hand while the other cupped her jaw, his thumb caressing her cheek. 

A growl escaped him when he felt Andrea’s hips grinding on his cock. She whimpered, desperately seeking her relief. Steve wanted to give her that. He wanted to give everything to her. 

He moved the hand holding her jaw and grabbed her ass, kneading the ample flesh with his palm, helping her grind further down on his erection, as he gently nibbled on her bottom lip. He broke the kiss and peppered kisses down her neck, gently nipping and biting her soft skin. The smell of peaches bloomed stronger than ever. 

“Steve,” Andrea whined, trapped between his bruising kisses and an iron grip on her arms. Steve needed her moans. He thrust his erection against her cotton-clad pussy, hoping to push her further to the edge. 

Steve flipped her onto her back and loomed over her. She was so _soft_. The t-shirt she wore, _his _shirt, rode up and had bunched around her waist. Her chest rose and fell, breasts begging to be caressed and fondled. Looking down at her panties, Steve could easily spot the wet spot that had gotten darker in the last few minutes. Strong, supple thighs cradled him between them. A look of wanton desperation colored Andrea’s features as her eyes, no longer unfocused, took him in. He could feel the precum dripping from his cock when her eyes rested a second longer on his crotch.__

__Steve leaned in and resumed the kiss, tasting her mouth. She reached up and grabbed his face, pulling him in even further but Steve had other ideas. He pushed her knees apart and up to her chest. She was completely open, the thinnest barrier of cotton standing in the way._ _

__Steve’s mouth would’ve watered at the thought had it not been occupied right then._ _

__Andrea’s hands fumbled with his shirt until she found the band of his boxer briefs and tugged on them. She let out another impatient whine, breaking the kiss._ _

__Steve was about to chuckle when it caught in his throat. Instead, he let out a gasp when her hand wrapped around his rock-hard cock._ _

__He looked down and saw that she had pulled his cock out from the slit in his boxers and was running her shaky hands over his erection and gently leading him to her. Steve had to visibly gulp in air to stop himself from cumming all over her hands, but Andrea had started gently squeezing his cock as she stroked him, and a man could only handle so much stimulation._ _

__He reached down and firmly took her hands and pinned them above her head._ _

__“Stay,” Steve managed to croak._ _

__Andrea looked at him with wide eyes and simply nodded. Her breathing grew heavier with each second. Steve bent and began assaulting her neck with bruising kisses. The compulsion to mark her, to claim her, drove him to it. Steve grabbed his cock and began grinding it on her clothed clit. He slowly patted her clit with his cock and felt her flinch._ _

__“Do that again,” she breathed, her hands grabbing onto his arms as she tried to grind her pussy on his cock._ _

__“Hands,” Steve said before biting her shoulder. He fucking loved her hands holding onto him in desperation, but his cock twitched at the thought of her doing what he told her to._ _

__Andrea let out the tiniest growl before throwing her hands above her head. _Twitch._ _ _

__“Fuck, this feels good,” she whimpered when he tapped his cock on her pussy, rubbing her clit with the head._ _

And Steve felt himself falter. _What are you doing, Rogers?_ He stopped what he was doing and scrambled to sit up straight, pulling Andrea up with him. 

__“That wasn’t right,” he began, afraid of looking her in the eyes._ _

"What wasn't?" Andrea asked, sounding nervous. 

"That should not have happened," Steve muttered, more to himself, feeling the shame and guilt rising in his belly like bile. 

__He felt Andrea try to get up or put some distance between them but that was proving a little difficult because she was technically straddling him, and Steve had both arms wrapped around her._ _

__“Umm. Right,” Andrea said, tucking her hair behind her ear and avoiding eye contact with him, “Sorry about that.”_ _

__Steve looked at her a little confused._ _

__“Yeah. That was wrong and should never have gotten that far.”_ _

__Andrea nodded and looked toward the door, “Right. I’ll just head to my room and…”_ _

__She tried again to get up and leave but Steve hadn’t let go yet._ _

__He looked at her closely and finally saw._ _

__Tears._ _

She had tears in her eyes. _What kind of a monster am I? Here she was trying to recover, and I mauled her and now she’s probably feeling unsafe and it’s all my—_

__“I’m—I’m really sorry, Steve. I don’t know what came over me. I should’ve asked before I’d kissed you and that was wrong of me. Please know that I didn’t—I didn’t—” she broke down into tears._ _

__Steve stared at her, utterly flummoxed. Instinctively, he pulled her to his chest and hugged her._ _

__“Andrea, what are you apologizing for?” he asked, certain he missing something._ _

__“For assaulting you while you were just trying to help me,” she mumbled against his chest._ _

__Steve stilled at her answer. Then he burst into laughter._ _

__“Sweetheart, not to make light of real assault, but you are more than welcome to do that to me whenever you want,” Steve managed between breaths._ _

__Andrea looked up at him with puffy eyes, confused._ _

__“You did not do anything that I didn’t also want. As you can probably tell,” he brought her hand to his still erect cock and continued, “I’m more than happy to continue.”_ _

__Andrea blushed a shade he wouldn’t have thought possible if he hadn’t seen it himself._ _

__“I didn’t—I just figured you were being polite,” Andrea finished lamely._ _

__“You have a very different definition of politeness, doll,” Steve laughed._ _

__Andrea laughed with him._ _

“Wait, so why _did_ you want to stop?” she asked with furrowed eyebrows. 

__Steve’s heart melted at that. She sounded happier but… put off? By his decision to stop?_ _

__“Like you pointed out, you were pretty close to hypothermia. My priority should’ve been to help you warm up and make sure you didn’t fall sick. Not, you know,” he looked at her pointedly._ _

__“Right. Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m pretty warm now,” she said shyly looking away._ _

Steve snickered as he cuddled her closer. He felt lighter knowing she was feeling better (emotionally and physically). But he'd have to practice restraint for the next couple of hours. _I don't want her getting the wrong idea. Also, Nat and Sam would kick my ass if they found out I didn't have a conversation about consent and other important things with Andrea before basically tackling her to the ground and--well, no need to get into that again._

__“How about you take a nap for now and I go make you something to eat and we talk later?”_ _

__Andrea considered his offer._ _

“Or,” she hesitated, “you could stay here and take a nap _with_ me and we could eat and talk later?” 

__Steve looked at the woman who was asking him to stay with her and do something as innocent as taking a nap all the while still straddling him in nothing but a t-shirt and panties, looking like an absolute goddess._ _

__“Promise it’ll only be a nap?” Steve asked, thrusting his semi-erection against her pussy lips once while wiggling his eyebrows._ _

__Andrea gasped as her hands went to his shoulders to steady herself. She looked at him ruefully before answering._ _

__“I don’t make promises I can’t keep, Rogers,” she challenged._ _

Chuckling a little, Steve laid back down with Andrea on top of him and pulled the covers over them. _If anything,_ he reasoned with himself, _I'll just have to tie her up. After all, she's the one who kissed me._


	17. Food First

Andrea couldn’t remember feeling warmer and comfier. The cotton sheet under her palm was soft, almost delicate. She didn’t know what time it was; her eyes simply refused to open to check. _This is how I want to start off each day_. She wiggled a little to get more comfortable, but her body was done with resting. 

As sleep slowly left her, her senses began to take stock. A light throb around her temple. _That can’t be good._ Her lips felt a little raw, as did the lower half of her face and her neck. _How did I get rug-burn on my neck?_ The thick blanket was getting a little uncomfortable but when she tried to throw it off, she found her legs entangled with another pair of far more muscular legs. That’s when Andrea realized there was an arm wrapped around her, which had snaked under her shirt and was currently holding one of her boobs in a firm but gentle grip. 

Andrea’s eyes flew open. 

She peeked below and, sure enough, a muscular, hairy arm was around her and disappeared under the shirt she was wearing that also did not belong to her. _If this is a dream, I am begging the Universe to kill me now so that this is the last thing I ever remember_. She could feel the roughened, calloused palm against her nipple. The slight friction from her movements causing it to harden, her pussy clenching. As she became more awake, she also noted the wall of warmth behind her and something that was poking her in the back. Almost instinctively, perhaps because of the wonderful dreams she’d had as she slept, or the action her nipple was getting, Andrea began moving her hips a little, wanting to caress whatever was poking her in the back. 

A growl came from the wall of muscle behind her and she found herself in a tighter grip than before, the hand tightening around her breast and something long and thick nestled between her butt. 

Andrea slowly looked behind her, careful not to move too much, and lost her train of thought completely. 

_Steve Rogers is cuddling me._ Steve was holding her and sleeping so peacefully next to her it broke her heart. Captain America also had her boob in an iron grip and had his diamond hard erection firmly between her ass cheeks. _What the hell is going on? Also, did the serum make it possible for him to, like, get extra hard?_

She couldn’t help looking at his face for a minute. _A face made by the Gods_ , Tony once joked. He wasn’t wrong though. Steve’s blonde hair, long due for a cut, slung over his forehead. She wondered for a moment what he was dreaming of to cause his eyebrows to furrow like that even in sleep. His eyes, the color of the Caspian Sea during a storm, remained closed, thick eyelashes caressing his cheekbones which framed his face perfectly. His beard, not standard for Avenging, made him look softer than usual. More mature. More… Decadent. Almost as if it had been triggered by her use of that word, the memories of the events before this nap came flooding back to her. 

The walk. Getting lost. Falling. 

Steve had come for her. 

The kiss. Steve restraining her arms. Steve looming over her. She felt an ache in her core as the memory of Steve grinding his cock on her pussy and spanking her clit with it came back to her. 

_That wasn’t rug-burn, Brokaw._

They’d stopped though. Her only thought was why. It’d been so long. Over three years. The rest of the conversation sank in. 

_You’re more than welcome to do that to me whenever you want._

_Promise it’ll only be a nap?_

She almost felt how his cock had thrust up against her as he’d teased her. 

He’d promised to talk. _Well, talk and eat_ , she amended. 

Should she wake him up? He’d had to carry her all the way to the cottage. Guilt seeped in. _You’re not exactly a Disney Princess, Brokaw. He’s probably tired from carrying you for so long._

Maybe she’d just stay in bed until he woke up? _Yeah, nothing selfish about that _, she thought wryly as Steve’s hard-on continued to take up residency between her ass cheeks.__

__She’d just have to be very careful not to move even an inch._ _

* * *

__  
_ _

He was in heaven, Steve decided as he ran a tongue over a taut brown nipple. The answering moan had him nearly losing focus. He pulled the nipple between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, suckling the bud and relishing the way her body shook under him. Soft thighs cradling his body, taking his weight without complaint. He moved his hand to her other breast and gently ran a finger over the nipple, watching it slowly harden before he held it between his forefinger and thumb, tugging on it. 

A growl escaped him, the sound rumbling from his core before reverberating in his chest. 

“Steve?” a soft voice called. 

Fuck, that voice nearly undid him. But he didn’t want her talking right now. He wanted that voice moaning and whimpering for him. Talk was for later. 

“Steve, wake up.” 

A warm hand gently cupped his cheek. 

Steve leaned into that touch, needing it to caress him and never stop. Mostly the painful appendage between his legs. He wanted so desperately to thrust into peach scented softness. 

“Steve?” she sounded uncertain, almost scared. 

Steve’s eyes snapped open. 

It took him a few seconds to get his bearings. He never took naps for a reason. _This is going to be one of the reasons_ , he thought wearily. 

Steve was spooning Andrea, her soft feminine warmth anchoring him on the bed. He had one of her breasts in a death-grip while his erection dug into her ass. He’d thrown his leg over hers, his hips moving of their own accord. His mortification grew when he realized he’d been nipping and suckling on her neck while groping and dry humping her in his sleep. 

No wonder she’d sounded scared! 

“Food,” Andrea breathed, breaking through the noise in his head. 

“What?” Steve asked, reluctantly letting go of her body, more than a little dazed. The wet dream he’d been having still swam in front of his eyes. He could still feel the weight of her breast in his hand, her nipple dragging against his palm. _Control yourself, Rogers._

“Food first, then you can continue with what you were doing right now,” she mumbled as she stretched the remnants of her nap. 

“I can?” Hope, unbidden, sprang in his chest. He wanted to feast on her body, his eyes roaming over her as she got up from bed. 

“Only if you feed me first,” Andrea winked, sashaying out of the room, leaving him to scramble into his sweatpants before he chased after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being MIA.   
> I needed to process Endgame somehow .-.
> 
> Tiny update for now. I hope y'all like it <3


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